My heavenly fire
by requestofthemoon
Summary: Sequel to MLS - Arta has to decide if she really can save the Morgenstern boy.
1. Chapter 1

1

Angels don't do funerals.

It's not so much that they don't know _how_. They just don't usually have them. And when they do, it's always ten times more sorrowful than a human funeral, because they're so rare. Angels aren't supposed to die. There have been cases where some were cut down as punishment for treason or other such things, but those angels aren't mourned. The angels killed for no fault – those angels get a funeral.

Zebediah got a funeral.

They say he was found chained to the ground by the neck and wrists, back seeping with golden ichor from where his wings were painfully and mercilessly torn out. He had been left like that for two days before his father had finally found him. The angel trap he had been put in had blocked his scent and made him virtually impossible to find. But you can't separate an angel from someone they love.

He had still been breathing. He had stayed alive long enough to tell his father two things: One, that I was in no way responsible for what happened. And two, that he was sorry he hadn't been stronger. He died apologizing. Sweet, baby Zeb had died saying sorry.

It didn't take me long to figure out what had happened. About thirty minutes after, Clary fire-messaged me telling me to come straight to the Institute library. When I found them, she, Jace, Isabelle, Simon, the Silent Brothers were all facing the message with silent looks of horror. None more pronounced than mine, upon seeing a pair of beautiful golden-tipped wings lying neatly on the ground, bathed in golden blood. They had been arranged to form a heart. Settled neatly on top of them was a note, which I expect to be a few sentences of mockery, or maybe a dark warning. But what was written was far more terrifying.

_Erchomai._

_I am coming._

My phone rings again, and I almost jump. Almost. I've been better at controlling my reactions and honing in on my reflexes now. I grab it and flip it open, lips moving numbly. "Hey Dad."

"Arta, baby, come to the funeral. You'll hate yourself even more if you don't."

This is the third time he's called me, and I know he's right. But how can I? How can I face the angels? They all loved Zebediah, in his kindness and incapability of hostility, unlike most of them. He loved everyone, and so everyone loved him. And because of me, because of a mess I made, he died. Sebastian killed him to get to me. His father knows that. All the angels know that.

"No one can blame you for who you fall for, baby girl. They know it's permanent. They won't hate you."

Yes, yes they will. Because while I can't control loving him, I could have stopped myself from falling in the first place. I could have ignored his advances. I could have not flirted back. I could have stopped trying to be his friend. But I did – I fell, and it's my fault. Not only that, but Sebastian is Lilith's child. That in itself is a sin to them. Our love is a scandal, a blasphemy. Angels don't love demons. It's not the way of things.

"Even if they do, ignore them," Mom says in the background. "You're there to pay your respects to your friend, who would have wanted you to come say goodbye."

I let out a long, ragged sigh. "That was low."

"She knows," Dad says, coming back on the line. "Now hurry up."

I twist the copy of the Morgenstern ring, which rests on my ring finger, and leave it on the table.

* * *

It was just me and Dad at the funeral. Mom decided it would be best, since Zeb was from Dad's side of the family anyway, and having just me and him there on our own would seem simpler than the whole family. And Dad's better at consoling me anyway.

Angel's don't speak aloud. At least, not to humans. Their voices are too powerful, too potent for a mortal's ears to perceive and handle, so they communicate telepathically to them. But not at the funeral. Their mouths opened, and the beauty of heaven poured out. They spoke in sorrow for Zeb, regret, and slight bitterness that he had to lose his life so young. He had eons waiting for him. All he got was sixteen years.

This funeral was different from mortal funerals. There was no open coffin and a somber crowd. It was in one of the gardens of heaven, a place I was told Zeb often came to to think. The flowers weren't made of petals, they were made of different hues of light. Orbs of light floated around the garden, and I couldn't tell if they're souls or paperless lanterns.

The edge of the garden spilled into a waterfall made of light. I heard the soft crash as it fell down below. I wanted to step to the edge to see where it dumped, but my dad kept a hand on my shoulder to keep me from moving. Maybe because what lay beyond that waterfall wasn't for my eyes.

Zeb's body was dressed in white robes, unlike most angels, who are usually dressed in gold. Zeb was still innocent when he died. Too young for a warrior's colors, which was what his father wanted him to be. A warrior angel in God's legion.

His body floated above the water. His robes didn't dampen as he reached the edge. The angels, all of us, watched as his body dissolved into slivers of light, laughing into the air. It was too beautiful to cry for. Instead, I found myself smiling, as all the other angels were. Ascension meant he would be one with God. Never to be corporeal in form again.

* * *

I close my eyes, trying to burn the image of Zeb's joyful soul into my mind. But all that I can think of are his wings, formed in a sickening heart. After I read the note, sickness and grief took over and I sprinted to the bathroom to vomit my guts out. Then I had stayed on my knees on the cold tile, sobbing.

I'm not crying anymore. I've found myself a nice, comfortable house at the edge of a small town somewhere in Pennsylvania. I move with the house from time to time, so I never really bother learning the name of where I am. Sebastian can't find me – not when I cloak myself so heavily, but I don't want to take the chance.

Jia Penhallow has been sending me updates on what he's doing. He has taken three Institutions so far – Bangkok, Buenos Aires, and Oslo. No survivors. Everyone was either turned or killed. His first in command: Amatis. His weapon: the Infernal Cup. His goal: the world. I have found that much on my own.

The soft sound of scratching makes me turn my head. I push the blanket off my lap and stretch over the couch to watch the note on the coffee table fill with inked words. It was a method of communication I came up with so I could stay in touch with Jia and Clary without ever been traced. I gave them both different sheets of parchment and I kept the twin. If they need to talk to me, they write on the paper. The words won't show up for them – the ink appears on my end. This is Jia's paper.

When the pen stops, my heartbeat quickens.

_I know where Sebastian is going next. Come to the Hall of Accords._

* * *

I might possibly be the only person in the world who can teleport straight into Alincante with no trouble. Then again, the wards are angelic, so my blood is basically a fast pass.

No one is in the Hall when I get there. Just Jia, at her desk, with Brother Zachariah and Isabelle.

"You wrote?" I say, forcing a grin.

"I speculated," Jai says, getting right down to business. "So far, we have been completely unable to track Sebastian or anticipate his movements. But one of my sources in Germany said they might have spotted a group of Endarkened."

I raise an eyebrow. "And so you think he's in Germany?"

"It's the bare bones of a guess, I know, but it's all we have. We have Institutes in Paris and Warsaw that aren't as heavily guarded as the Berlin Institute, which is what we assume –"

"No." I pull up a chair and prop it backwards in front of her desk. I cross my legs and rest my arms over the back of it. "Berlin is the biggest, so that's what he'll want. Besides, I've seen German Shadowhunters fight. He wants them."

"We have to warn them," Isabelle says.

"I already have," Jia says. "But I can't put official word out, because this is just speculation. I can't have an entire Institute evacuated on a guess, even if it's accurate. The only reason Berlin is being cautious is because I'm friends with the head of that Institute."

"So even though there's a chance their Institute might be slaughtered and turned, they won't take precautions?"

_It works somewhat in our favor,_ Brother Zachariah says. _The Morgenstern boy won't know Berlin is anticipating his attack. We have the advantage._

"For once," Isabelle mutters.

I understand, then, what they're getting at. The ring on my finger feels heavier than usual. "You want me and Isabelle to sneak into Berlin and capture Sebastian?"

"Ideally, that would be lovely," Jia says wryly. "But capturing Sebastian is too high a goal with such small numbers. And I won't risk calling for more aid in case it tips him off."

"So what, you want me to go and spectate? Take a video for you? 'Oh hey, here's my ex tearing shit up'."

"Stow the sarcasm, Artemis. We want blood from the Cup."

I pull back. "What for?"

_The warlocks of the Spiritual Labyrinth need a sample – they're trying to make an antidote, _Zachariah explains. _We've tried testing captured Endarkened, but it hasn't worked. Dead, their bodies crumble. Alive, they don't last long. So we want to see what we can do with the source of their evil._

I look warily from Isabelle to Jia. If I do this, then that means Sebastian might see me. I don't know what he'll be like now, after so long away from me and with his demons. And what will seeing him that way do to me? Will I do something stupid? I've always been weak for him.

"When would we leave, if I accepted?" I ask.

"Tonight."

"Is this . . . it's our only chance?"

_We aren't pressuring you into doing anything, Artemis, _Zachariah says softly. _I understand your love for Sebastian might complicate things, but we chose you because you are the most capable, and the most powerful. _

"And if Sebastian were to capture you, he wouldn't kill you." The confidence in Jia's voice startles me. How would she know? "You're the only person who has that advantage."

I stare at the back of the chair. If Sebastian _does _capture me, I have a vague idea of what he would do. And I have a very good idea of how helpless I'd be. I always sucked at resisting his advances.

But like I said, he will be different. Demon blood corrupts and poisons. Taking in more – will he even be himself?

"Alright," I say. "I'll do it."

Jia grins.

"But Isabelle has to stay behind."

"Excuse me?" Her hand clamps down on my shoulder and she forces me to turn and face her. I almost fall off the chair. "I'm coming with you."

I stand up, careful not to fall over. "Izzy –"

"No, don't 'Izzy' me." She looks seriously pissed. "This isn't something you get to do alone. Facing Sebastian again? You haven't seen him since he raised Lilith. You don't know how you'll react when you see him again. If you freeze up, you need someone to cover your ass."

I throw my hands up. "For God's sakes, Izzy, if he can get past me, he can get past you!"

"Yeah, but I'm not in love with him."

"How are you going to stop him if he catches us? He has an _army._"

"I guess we'll just have to find out."

Doesn't she understand _why _I want her to stay here? If another friend dies because of me – at Sebastian's hands –

"He isn't going to kill me, Arta." Her voice is gentle. "He tried once and failed. I'm not that delicate."

I sigh, quietly, and force a smile. "I never said you were."


	2. Chapter 2

2

"_You know, you could knock next time you walk into my room."_

_He glances back at me, smirks, and says nothing. Instead he taps one of the pictures on my wall. "Is this Hyde Park?"_

_I nod, then realize he can't see me because he's facing the wall. "Yup, that's it. My mom and her friend got ambushed there once, during the eighteen hundreds. By automatons."_

"_I can't imagine the kind of bedtime stories you were told as a child." He pulls another photo off the wall. It's of MacIntosh, but before it was reduced to rubble. Even though he first saw it a few days ago, he stills seems interested in it. I applaud him for his taste in castle._

"_Epic ones." I hug my pillow tightly, remembering when Dad used to tell me stories. He didn't just speak them – he found that to be boring. He'd say some of the words, then animate the rest with misty, colorful figures. He'd bring the dragons to life, manifest the dark castles on my pillows, and produce the battlefield on my covers. I tell Sebastian this, and he smirks. "Of course."_

"_I wasn't spoiled," I say. _

_He makes a sound, but leaves it at that._

"_Well, what about you? What bedtime stories did you get?"_

"_Valentine didn't tell me stories."_

_I can't say I'm too surprised with his answer. "No time like the present." _

_He turns to me, puzzled, and I pat the space beside me on my bed. _

_He smiles slowly. "Are you inviting me to bed, Arta?"_

"_I'm inviting you to listen to a bedtime story."_

_I want to snuggle beneath my covers, but if I do, there's a chance I'll fall asleep mid-story. So I stay on top of them, and watch as Sebastian crosses the room and crawls onto the bed. He kicks his shoes off, stretches out beside me, and turns his head towards me. His black eyes dance with mischief._

"_Alright then, mother," he says. "Tell me a story."_

_He's closer to me than I realized – his face is just an inch or so away. I tilt my head up, facing the ceiling, trying not to blush as I scoot over a centimeter or two. He notices the movement with amusement. _

_I consider telling him an old Greek myth, but I figure he already knows most of them. I don't want to tell him a classic fairytale, because where's the fun in that? _

_Then I think of a story, and I grin. "There was once a girl named Hazel Grace. She was sixteen, and was diagnosed with terminal thyroid cancer."_

_He frowns. "I haven't heard of this one before."_

"_You'll be glad you didn't. Now, Hazel was dying. She knew that she probably didn't have very long. She lapsed into depression, and so her parents forced her to go to a group therapy session with other cancer survivors. There, she met this adorable sweetie named Augustus Waters . . ."_

_I tell most of the story while staring at the ceiling, but at some point I find myself facing Sebastian as I talk. I end up staring at his lips, because every time I look at him, his eyes bore straight into my own. His expression doesn't change much, even when I mention the sad parts, and dive into them in vivid detail. Even when I tell him the ending, he doesn't seem too torn up about it, the way I was._

"_Aren't you at least remotely upset?" I frown._

_His voice is flat. "People die. Sometimes young. Why should I care?"_

"_That's it. We're watching the movie tomorrow."_

"_Spare me." He rolls over on his back and folds his arms behind his head. _

"_Your turn."_

"_My turn to what?"_

"_Tell me a story."_

_A muscle ticks in his jaw. "I already told you –"_

"_I never said it had to be one from childhood. Read me a book."_

_He looks at me dryly. "Read to you?"_

"_Yeah. Jace read Clary _A Tail of Two Cities._"_

"_I'm not Jace."_

"_I know. That's why you should read . . ." I pause for a moment, thinking through some good books. "The Count of Monte Christo."_

"_I've read that one before," he comments. "I suppose . . . I could read it again."_

_I manifest a copy for him, and he sits up with his back against the pillows. I sit up a little bit, and turn so my body is facing his side. I don't let myself touch him. _

_And he reads. Not once is his voice flat and boring and narrative – it's alive. Not wildly and animatedly so, but it has emotion. French words roll off his tongue perfectly. The dialogue sounds real, coming from his lips. I can see Edmond Dantès speaking to his fiancée. I can hear his confusion at the letter that condemns him. His shock, when he realizes that they're going to the Château d'If – the prison. His horror, fear, despair; it all spills from Sebastian's lips so perfectly as if he himself is Dantès. _

"'_If only I could die,' he said. 'I'd go to where he's gone and I'd be with him again. But how can I die?' He thought for a moment, then said, smiling, "It's very easy: I'll stay here and attack the first man who comes in. I'll strangle him and they'll guillotine me.'"_

"_No, Dantès!" I breathe softly. _

_Sebastian chuckles. "But then he recoiled from the idea of such an infamous death and swiftly passed from despair to a burning thirst for life and freedom. 'Die? Oh no!' he cried out. 'What would be the point of having lived and suffered so much if I were going to die now? No, I want to live, to fight on to the end. I want to win back the happiness that was taken away from me. I must punish my enemies before I die, and I may also have some friends to reward. But they'll forget me here, and the only way I'll ever leave this dungeon is like Faria.'"_

_I don't remember when I fall asleep. I remember feeling the brush of something soft against my forehead. Listening faintly to the book closing. Sadness when I feel the bed lighten and the lamp click off, then relief when it becomes heavy again and warmth meets me._

Isabelle snaps her fingers twice in front of my face, pulling me from my memories. "Hello? Important mission?"

I blink. "Right, sorry."

She glances down at my hand, the one that keeps twisting the Morgenstern ring on my left ring finger. "Are you sure you want to keep that on?"

"Clary can wear hers, so I can wear mine."

"Yes, but what if Sebastian sees you wearing it? He'll think . . ."

"He isn't stupid enough to think I'd still be loyal to him." The words are harsher than I mean them to be. "But at the least, it would make him hesitate." And sometimes, hesitation is all you need. To escape, to kill, to save. A few seconds can make a difference.

I could have teleported us inside the Institute, but etiquette requires we knock and wait for acceptance inside. That and I haven't been here before, so I couldn't teleport us inside anyway.

Most Institutes vary in sizes and shapes, which is why the Berlin Institute first throws me off. It's glamour makes it look like a small country home, like something from the Medieval Age. In reality, it looks like a black castle, complete with stone towers and statues of Raziel and Michael on either side of the door. One holding the Cup, the other holding a sword. Both seem to regard me with distaste. I wonder absently if either were at Zeb's funeral.

Isabelle presses her hand to the door and starts to ask acceptance into the Institute by Raziel. While she's halfway, I reach out and push it open.

She gives me a look, and I shrug. "Angel blood, remember?"

We wait inside the main foyer. Even though I can't smell any Endarkened, Isabelle doesn't want us to just spring in on a possible attack. Funny, coming from her. But understandable – it would be just us two against an army. And even though we're plenty capable, it would make it almost impossible to get some of the blood.

At the last second, I throw a disguise over both me and Isabelle. I make her hair dirty blonde, shrink her cheekbones, thin her lips. I hide my silver eyes behind brown, lighten my dark hair, and raise my cheekbones to Victoria Justice proportions. I just finish slapping a fresh coat of red lipstick on my lips as a figure rounds the corner and greets us with a grin.

"You must be Jia's," he says in heavily accented English. "I'm Viktor Kraus. Head of the Berlin Institute."

I could have probably figured that just by looking at him; Viktor has the build of a Shadowhunter – not big and burly, but muscular and lithe, able to attack at a moment's notice. With his dark hair and black eyes, he reminds me a bit of Simon.

"My name is Rosetta Morwen," I say as officially as I can. I nod at Isabelle. "This is my Parabati, Isa Slightwood. We don't mean to inconvenience you – we're just here to wait the night out and report back to Jia. We can't take any threat lightly."

"Of course," he says. "Stay as long as you'd like. But I assure you, a child like Sebastian won't be able to take thisInstitute."

I fold my free hand over the ringed one, and smile. "Of course. But better safe than sorry."

"Of course, I understand. Come."

_You know, _I say to Isabelle. _At first I thought he said Viktor Krum. I was gonna go all Harry Potter on him._

_What's Harry Potter? _

_What kind of books do they even have in the NY Institute Library? How do you not know Harry Potter?_

_I can't believe an eighty-year-old woman is more modern than I am, _she says, grinning. _Oh, and by the way, Isa _Slightwood? _Could you be any less discrete?_

_Sue me._

Viktor gives us a brief tour of the Berlin Institute, which is massive, then lets us chose where we want to go, with the only rule of letting him know when we leave. Isabelle decides to visit the training room to "see how German boys do it". She invited me to come, and I figured watching a bunch of fit sweaty Shadowhunters fight would be a great experience, I wasn't really in the mood. So I waited in the spare bedroom we were given and tried to go to sleep. But of course, that wasn't going to happen.

_If Sebastian's in Germany, should I go look for him?_

Those last six words had gone through my head almost every day. Should I look for him? Should I try to fix things between us? After he started taking Institutes, the idea pestered me more and more often. But I was too scared. If I'm being honest with myself, the only reason I agreed to come was because if he did show up, I would be forced to do _something. _

I lay on my back, peering up at the ceiling. I pull the Morgenstern ring from my finger and study it. It's simple in design – most family rings are. Silver, with black stars around the band and a black, thick M on the circular front. I turn it upside down so it makes a W, and wonder what Jace must have thought when he realized that all it took to completely shatter his world was a one-eighty degree turn.

I smile. My world was shattered with a black-hearted boy. Who am I to judge?

Clary sees my wallowing as regret. Isabelle sees it as heartbreak. I don't think they understand that it's more frustration than anything else (and yes, a bit – okay, a lot – of heartbreak). I _can _save Sebastian. Barbatos said it was possible. I just need to figure out how. But so far, at every turn, that possibility becomes smaller and smaller until it seems like it had never existed to begin with.

I hear something downstairs that makes my ears perk up. Some sounds make you sit up and wonder what's going on. Others let you know immediately that shit is happening.

Bangs, crashes, and screams is a sign that shit is happening.

That's exactly what I hear from past my room, downstairs at the main entrance of the Berlin Institute. I'm on my feet in seconds, running as fast as my stupid out-of-shape body can take me (moping involves ice cream and good movies – _not _a treadmill).

I raise my palm and my axe forms in my hand just as I reach the railing. The first thing I see is the utter and complete chaos springing in the main foyer – warriors in black fighting far more warriors in red. Chills skitter down my spine when I remember the blood red dress Sebastian had me wear. The sound of sharp metal against sharp metal and cries of – worst than anything – defeat, abound. For every Shadowhunter there are ten Endarkened. And as I watch, more arrive.

One of them turns their head towards me and points. A group of Endarkened break away to climb up to where I am.

I turn and sprint down the hallway for the other set of stairs that lead to the other end of the Institute. All the doors are open, some neatly set that way, some obviously thrown in haste. All rooms are empty.

_Isabelle! _I scream mentally, so loudly that most people in the room cringe. They can't hear the word, only the sharp frequency at which I blare it.

_Here, _Comes her faint reply. _The training facility . . . they have Shadowhunters rounded up and are forcing them to drink._

_What the actual _hell_ are you doing in there?!_

_I'm – _She's breaks off, and her end goes silent.

"NO!" I scream, switching courses. I flip myself over the railing and land in a crouch between Endarkened. I spare them no glance as I swing my axe once – twice. Heads fall and I keep running.

I don't bother trying to remember the layout of the Institute – I fill my head with Izzy's scent and follow it like a wild dog. It's hard to block out the smell of demon – it's so thick here, it's almost nauseating. It's not Sebastian's kind of scent, tamed after his years of life. It's Lilith's wrath, fresh and foul.

I hear them before I see them. The sound of grunting, screaming, cursing – mostly in German. I stop at the door and press my forefinger lightly to the wall, seeing through the eyes of that inanimate object.

Inside stands Amatis with the Infernal Cup in her hand, tipping it to the lips of another Shadowhunter, who looks as if he's been beaten nearly senseless. Blood trails down his temples, swollen eyes, and cut lip. He still manages to writhe and shout as his mouth is forced open by another freshly turned Endarkened – Viktor, I realize with horror, who's grinning. The other Shadowhunters are in the corner, subdued as well, guarded by over two dozen Endarkened.

I throw a sheet of invisibility over myself quickly as another group rounds the corner with the rest of the Shadowhunters I saw fighting in the foyer. Adults, teenagers, boys and girls – but no one old or young. _No survivors, _I remember sickly. Sebastian had those too old or too young to fight disposed of.

_This is the boy you want to save?_

I press my finger to the wall again, and what I see makes me gasp aloud.

Isabelle at Amatis's feet, with the Cup between her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

3

I don't make smart decisions under normal conditions. So you can imagine the kind of stupid shit I do under bad ones.

Like charging into a room overflowing with Endarkened with only my axe.

The axe isn't even in my hands that long – I throw it, and it transforms into a blade mid-flight. It slams into the Cup, not hard enough to penetrate it, but hard enough to knock it from Amatis's surprised hands. I see a drop of blood on Isabelle's lips, but no more than that. She spits it away and slams her head into the face of the Endarkened one holding her wrists. Relief floods through me. I got here just in time.

I hold out my hand and the knife slams back into my palm, now an axe. I lunge forward, cutting down the Endarkened guarding her. The others surge towards me, but I don't even think about them. I touch Isabelle's arm and teleport her back to the Institute.

The moment she's gone, something slams into my back, between my shoulder blades. I cry out, sorely tempted to give my attacker a piece of my mind. But there's a reason why I only teleported Isabelle back and not myself. I let them wrestle me to my knees and restrain myself from using my full strength when I fake-struggle against them.

"Not a warlock," she frowns. "She bears the marks of a Shadowhunter. You'll be an interesting addition to Sebastian's army."

I thought up several different ways to get a sample of the blood from the Cup, and this was one of the not-as-thought-out ones. But when life gives you lemons . . .

I open my mouth and accept the bloody lemonade.

Before it can actually touch my tongue, an air pocket opens inside my mouth. It's a space into nowhere, a bag made of matter. And I can store anything, in small amounts, into it. Right now it's the only thing keeping Lilith's blood from my system.

Amatis must have sensed something was wrong, because after she lightens the pressure on the Cup and I close the air pocket, she jams it back between my teeth and the rest goes pouring down my throat.


	4. Chapter 4

4

The effect is instant. My eyes widen and I stumble back, choking like an old man who swallowed nails. Amatis steps back, satisfied. She thinks it's working.

It's not.

It's as if my body is repulsed at the idea of having any of that foul liquid inside me. Every drop must be spewed out, along with the skin it touched. Blood pours from my lips as I hack on the tile. Tears sting my eyes – I can't breathe. The smell of Lilith's black blood fills my nostrils and stabs at my brain.

_I'm going to die. I'm going to die._

Through my blurred vision, I can see rich blood coating the ground – my blood. The Endarkened jerk away from it, as if one drop could kill them.

"The Angel," Amatis breathes, and I realize my disguise must have flickered off. "Get the master! Get him now!"

My eyes widen and I accidentally inhale more dark blood from my teeth in my gasp – and go right back to choking and vomiting blood. _Sebastian is coming. You are weak. Go. GO!_

I start to rise up, but a boot comes down on my back and forces me back into the ground. A man, judging from the weight of it. My wet lips smear against the tile; I can barely breathe in this position, and my lungs are still burning. _This is what Lilith's blood does to my kind._

Then I hear the sound of a blade sinking into skin, and a choked off gasp. The pressure on my back lightens, and I suck in a lungful of pungent, tainted air.

Something rolls me over. My vision turns upward, and I see a white halo. Arms cradle me against a strong, warm body. Long fingers move my hair from my face, hair stuck to the blood around my mouth. A heart beats quickly against my bicep.

"Artemis," a terrifying, beautiful voice whispers. An angel of hell, it must be, to sound so evil and enchanting at the same time.

I turn my head, expelling the last of Lilith's blood, and with it, my mind clears. My eyes widen and I turn back to Sebastian, but I'm too weak to even lift my head.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, pressing his chest tightly against my own while keeping me steady in his lap. "Why do you do this to yourself, Angel?"

My shaking hand reaches out, trying to pick up one of the knives that lay scattered near us. His body stills against mine as I steady it in my weak fingers and bury it into his chest, into his heart, which sends a tremble through our bodies with each beat. The tremble doesn't quicken or slow as he sighs against my skin and pulls the knife out, tossing it to the floor. I listen to it clatter with a feeling of dread and relief. Some part of me knew it wouldn't work. It's the only reason I had the courage to do it in the first place.

"It'll take more than that to kill me, sweetheart." I hear laughter around me – the Endarkened. One glance and I know; everyone has been turned.

His hand presses itself to my stained cheek, tilting my face up to his again. My vision is still blurred, and my eyes are still half-open, but I can still see his smile. It's chilling, like a razor slice. "You came to join me." He takes my hand, the one with the Morgenstern ring, and kisses my knuckles.

_Say something! _"I came for this." I raise the ring hand, pointing at the Cup. But instead, I find my finger resting against his chest, over his heart.

His smile fades, replaced by my own. I continue. "But I decided . . . not to waste time . . . taking what's already mine."

And then I summon my last bit of strength and teleport myself outside the fallen Berlin Institute. I stumble, teleport myself again to the doors of the Institute, and collapse.

* * *

Most people hate being unconscious because they miss things while they're under, which is exactly why _I _hate being unconscious. I got knocked out once by a falling building, and when I woke up I missed Jace's kidnapping and Alec and Magnus's breakup.

Which is why, the first thing I say when I wake up in Clary's room is "WHAT YEAR IS IT?"

Clary jumps about a foot in her seat and almost tips the chair over. Jace laughs so hard I think he's going to turn red.

"Damn it, Arta," Alec says, hand at his heart. "It's the still the same year as you passed out. Just a week later."

"_A week? _Did I miss anything?" I speak quietly, because my throat is hoarse from that sudden outburst. Or maybe because of Lilith's blood traveling down it. I shudder at the memory.

"Actually, you woke up in the nick of time." Jace stands, and I realize he's wearing all white. Mourning clothes?

"Did – did more . . .?"

Alec is the one who speaks. "Yes. Two more Institutes, immediately following Berlin's fall. No survivors."

I settle back against the pillows slowly, scrubbing the side of my face. Someone wiped the blood from my skin, bless whoever it was, and put me in a nightgown. "So there's a funeral."

"Actually, there's a meeting," Jace says. "The clothes seem to fit the occasion, considering the losses."

"Meeting?" I climb out of bed and snap my fingers, changing my outfit to a simple white dress with a hood.

"Don't strain yourself," Alec mutters.

Clary protests, trying to insist that I'm not well enough to come, and that I probably don't want to hear what's going to be said. But what she's really saying is _how will the Clave react to having Sebastian's lover in their midst?_ Word spread when I came back. I don't know how, but word spread. People know. And I came to terms with it awhile ago.

"Izzy," I say suddenly. "How is she?"

"She's fine," Clary says. "She went ahead with her parents. We were going to wait to see if you'd wake up before we left, just to make sure you didn't wake up and find us gone . . . oh well, you might as well come."

"I was gonna go anyway," I shrug, following her, Jace, and Alec out the door. I want to ask Alec if, by some miracle, he and Magnus got back together while I was under, but decide against it. If they had, he wouldn't give off such a strong aura of misery.

We move as a pack along the Guard Hill. I stay near the back of the group, finding it hard to feel like I belong in the midst of the Lightwood family. Jace is basically a Lightwood, and Clary is going to be his wife someday. She's already been accepted. But me? I think back to Alec's expression when he saw me again, after having found out what really happened with Sebastian. I think of Jace, and what he said to me. He took it all back and apologized, but you don't just forget words like that.

Being in the back also makes me easy to see, and makes it easy to hear the whispers that follow us. The other Shadowhunters openly stare at me, and I keep my head down.

". . . angel blood . . ."

". . . special powers . . ."

". . . heard that Sebastian taught her tricks . . ."

". . . can perform miracles . . ."

". . . shouldn't be here. Probably a spy . . ."

It's a bright winter day, cold but sunny. The light shines directly onto Jace's golden hair, making it look blindingly bright, almost white. But he doesn't look anything like Sebastian. He's shorter. A little thicker in muscle. More confident and solid in his walk. Sebastian moved like a shadow – graceful, solid, and sure. A different kind of confidence, not forged by love and the other things Jace got. Forged by the knowledge that if he didn't love himself, nobody would.

The sound of a bell echoes through the air, and the gates slide open. I join the Lightwoods, Luke, and Jocelyn in the tide of Shadowhunters pouring through. We pass through the gardens outside the fortress, up a set of stairs, then through another set of doors into a long corridor that ends at the Council chamber.

I sit between Isabelle and Clary. Isabelle looks at me intently around the same time Clary touches my hand. Both a signal that they want to talk, mentally.

_Alright, _I say. _Ask._

_What happened after you sent me back? _Isabelle asks.

_Whoa, wait, you're here too? _Clary.

_Wow. I've never heard anyone but Arta mentally. This is weird._

_That's what I was thinking! Do you know what this meeting's for? They have the Mortal Sword out . . ._

Collectively, all three of us turn abruptly to the front of the room, earning a chuckle from Jace. In front of the Council seats is a table draped in blue velvet. Resting on it is the Mortal Sword.

_The Sword is present at most meetings. It might not be –_

_Ahem, _I say. _Didn't you have a question, Izzy?_

_Well, where's my answer?_

I pause, then tell both her and Clary what I remember. I leave out some of the dialogue spoken, and Sebastian's kiss, though I think they know I'm holding back for a reason. Only, they probably thought he gave me more than just a kiss, because when I finish Clary asks me if I'm really okay, and I have to tell her twice that I am.

"Will the Council please come to attention," Jia Penhallow says.

Silence falls quickly. Seems like everyone is desperate to know what's going on. Hasn't she told them?

"Bangkok, Buenos Aires, Oslo, Berlin, Moscow, Los Angeles," says Jia. "Attacked in quick succession, before they could be reported. Before warnings could be given. Every Conclave in these cities has had its Shadowhunters captured and Turned. A few – pitifully few, the very old or very young – were simply killed, their bodies left for us to burn, to add to the voices of lost Shadowhunters in the Silent City."

Most Shadowhunters don't really grasp the concept of 'Turned'. They don't want to believe their loved ones are gone for good. No one mentions my part at Berlin, and I remember the blood I managed to store in the air pocket. If I'm lucky, I'll find it. I didn't have time to remember the feel of that particular pocket, so it could be one of thirty I have in use currently. That'll be fun to sort through.

"Is it true that Sebastian Morgenstern is invulnerable now? That he can't be killed?" someone asks.

There is a murmur in the room, and Isabelle glances at me but says nothing. Jia speaks, raising her voice. "As I said, there were no Nephilim warriors –"

"What about his lover?" One voice cries out, and everyone hushes. Clary pales, and I stiffen. "She sits amongst us right now! I saw her come in! Let us interrogate her – surely she must know something about his plans!"

"Artemis Malestorm was interrogated upon her return from Sebastian Morgenstern's company. She knows only what we all know already."

They had me swear on the Mortal Sword. It didn't burn me like it does the Shadowhunters, but I didn't bother mentioning that then. I figured it would be easier to just pretend, instead of having them constantly doubt me. It was lie or constantly be suspected of having lied.

"She's of angel blood," someone else says. "She could have tricked you."

"Are you saying she tricked the Mortal Sword? That she tricked Raziel's weapon and therefore, Raziel?" Jia asks icily.

_Damn girl, you go._

"Why doesn't she speak up now?" the first person says, though she doesn't sound as confident as she did before. "Tell us herself?"

"That is not what this meeting was called for, and I'll have no more of it." Jia's voice is dangerously cool. "Helen Blackthorn, if you please, bring the witnesses out."

Helen nods and disappears through a side door. A moment later she returns, walking slowly now, her hand on the back of a thin boy with a mop of wavy brown hair. He can't be older than twelve. I recognize him immediately – Helen's little brother. I saw him when I met Helen for the first time. He looks tired and dirty and frightened. Skinny wrists stick out of the cuffs of a white mourning jacket, the sleeves of which are too short for him. In his arms he carries a little boy, no more than three years, with tangled brown curls. Family trait, it seems. Following Julian is a girl about ten, hand firmly clasped in the hold of a strange boy about the same age. I frown at him – there's something off about him. Not dangerously so, but enough to make me wonder if he has a bit more faerie in him than the rest of his family.

The Blackthorns come to a halt, all dressed in similar mourning clothes. The misery on their faces cuts at my heart, especially when I realize that I know who caused it. And of course, everything Sebastian has done can be directly pinned on me. Did they lose a family member? Did they watch their friends die? I smile bitterly to myself. Of course they watched their friends die. Or become Turned, if there's even a difference. You don't come back from Turning.

"Julian Blackthorn," Jia says. Her voice is gentle, but firm. "Step forward, please."

He swallows and nods, handing the little boy to his older sister. He steps forward, eyes darting around the dais. He's looking for someone, I realize. His shoulders slouch as he gives up just as another figure darts out on stage. A girl, about twelve, with a tangle of dark blond hair that hangs down around her shoulders. Her clothes are too big and her gaze is cast downwards, as if having so many people looking at her is unbearable. With her presence, the terror vanishes from Julian's expression as she moves to stand beside Helen.

"Julian," Jai says. "would you do something for us? Would you take up the Mortal Sword?"

I sit upright. Even though the Mortal Sword has no effect on me, I'm well aware of how it feels in the palms of the Nephilim. It's agony, whether or not you tell the truth. The pain only worsens with lies.

"They can't," Clary hisses beside me. "He's just a kid –"

"He's the oldest of the children who escaped the Los Angeles Institute," Jace says under his breath. "They don't have a choice."

Julian nods, straightening his thin shoulders. "I'll take it."

Watching Robert Lightwood hand the sword to Julian makes the boy's lanky figure seem almost comically small when compared to Robert's massive frame. When he takes the sword, I expect a scream, or a look of agony. Pain flashes across his features, but he forces it down expertly so. I almost smile – do Shadowhunter kids take classes on hiding pain? Maybe I should consider taking one.

I don't pay attention much to the general questions Jia asks Julian. When the little boy describes the attack, I stare blankly at a small spot past his shoulder and listen to a blur of voices as I retreat to my own head. _Don't listen. Don't listen. Don't – _

". . . he was wearing a red cloak, covered in runes."

My eyes flicker back to Julian.

"What runes?"

_Don't listen don't listen don't listen don't listen._

"Emma!"

I glance up, watching the blond girl throw herself between Julian and the Consul. I raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Leave him alone!" Emma shouts, throwing her arms out wide, as if she could shield Julian behind her, even though she's a head shorter. "You're torturing him! Leave him alone!"

"It's okay, Emma," Julian insists, the color slowly returning to his face. "They have to do it."

"No, they don't." Her voice is strong and fierce for someone her size and age, and I admire it. "I was there too. I saw what happened. Do it to me." She holds out her hands, as if begging for the Sword. "I'm the one who stabbed Sebastian in the heart. I'm the one who saw him not die. You should be asking _me_!"

My jaw tighten out of reflex, at the idea of someone hurting him, even though I basically did the exact same thing. Isabelle notices, and touches my shoulder. Does she think I'm going to hurt the girl? I relax, feeling somewhat insulted.

Emma rests her hands over Julian's, not taking the sword from him but instead carrying it with him. "I stabbed Sebastian," she says in a voice that rings throughout the room. "And he pulled the dagger out and laughed."

Chills skitter down my spine. _It'll take more than that to kill me, sweetheart. _

"He said 'It's a shame you won't live. Live to tell the Clave that Lilith has strengthened me beyond all measure. Perhaps Glorious could end my life. A pity for the Nephilim that they have no more favors that they can ask of Heaven, and none of the puny instruments of war they forge in their Adamant Citadel can harm me now."

I feel a hand poke me. I turn, and to my surprise I see it's Jace, reaching around Clary, who pretends not to notice.

_You wanna say something? _I ask, trying not to sound cold.

_I want to ask something. I know you tried to hurt Sebastian._

I stiffen. _Did Clary tell you?_

_You didn't even blink when she said he pulled out the dagger and laughed. Is it true? _

_It is. _I press my lips tightly together.

Before I can say anything else, Emma disappears through the door from which she came, a look of fury on her face. I frown, looking around. Isn't anyone going to go after her?

I'm on my feet before I realize it. Clary reaches for me, but I brush past her and race down the sloping aisle between the rows of seats. I hear whispers and mutters following me, louder now that the lover of their subject of conversation is in plain sight, making a spectacle of herself. I understand why Emma hated being on stage, and I quicken my pace, heading through the side door after her.

I almost knock over Aline, who's hovering near the open door, watching what's going on in the Council room with a scowl. It disappears when she sees me, replaced by a look of surprise. "What are you doing?"

"The little girl," I say. "Emma. She ran back here."

"I know. I tried to stop her, but she pulled away from me. She's just . . ." Aline sighs and glances at the room, where Jia has resumed questioning Julian. "It's been so hard on them, Helen and the others. You know their mother died only a few years ago. All they've got now is an uncle in London."

I suck in a breath. "I'd like to talk to her. To Emma."

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, the Blackthorn ring shimmering on her right hand. I become painfully aware of the Morgenstern ring on my own. "She won't talk to anyone but Julian," she says. "And . . . because you dated him . . . she might hate you especially."

I brush my fingertips over my knuckles, where Sebastian's lips touched them. "Let me try," I urge. "Please."

Aline sighs. "Down the hall, first room on the left."

I can hear the voices of the Council fade as I walk. I consider throwing a disguise over my face, maybe appear as Clary or someone else. But I don't want to fool Emma, I just want to talk to her.

The first door on my left is wooden, leading into a simple room with wooden wainscoting and a jumble of chairs, hastily assembled. It feels like a hospital waiting room. It has the heavy sense in the air of an impermanent place where people spend their anxiety and grief in unfamiliar surroundings.

"What?" Emma says. "What do you want?"

She's sitting in a chair propped up against a wall, looking smaller than she had from a distance. She's left-handed, I can tell by her Marks. The defiance in the tilt of her chin reminds me a bit of myself.

Damn, I feel old.

"Nothing," I say, pushing the door shut gently. "I just wanna talk to you. Is that okay?"

She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "You want to use the Mortal Sword on me? Interrogate me?"

She doesn't recognize me, I realize with slight gratefulness. "Nah. I personally think there should be an age limit on how young people have to be to be interrogated. Julian shouldn't have had to deal with that, not after what he went through."

"They should trust him," she agrees. "Julian doesn't lie." She looks at me challengingly, as if daring me to disagree.

"Of course he doesn't," I say, and take a gentle step into the room. I want to manifest a chair for myself, but I don't want to startle her with magic just yet. So I grab one from the corner and sit down, folding my legs so my feet don't touch the ground. "Julian's your best friend, right?"

Emma nods.

"I had a best friend – he was a boy, too. His name was Zeb."

"What happened to him?"

I smile sadly. "I didn't protect him."

"He's dead?" Her eyes are still hard, trying to be tough, but I can see sympathy mixed with her curiosity.

I nod, smile fading. "That's not a mistake you would make, right? You look out for Julian. I can see it, just from what you did today. Standing up in front of the entire Council. That takes guts."

She doesn't betray much emotion, but she sits a little straighter. She doesn't say anything after that.

"You're sword is beautiful," I say, nodding to the blade across her lap.

Her expression softens fractionally. She touches the blade, which is etched with a delicate pattern of leaves and runes. The crossbar is gold, and across the blade are carved words: _I am Cortana, of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal. _"It was my father's. It's been passed down through the Carstair's family. It's a famous sword," she adds proudly. "It was made a long time ago."

_There used to be more than one Morgenstern sword, _Sebastian had said to me once while we were sparring for fun. _A shortsword – smaller version of what I have. It was lost a long time ago, Valentine never told me how. It would have been perfect for you, Arta._

"Same metal as Joyeuse and Durendal," I comment. "Those are both famous swords. You know who owns famous swords?"

"Who?"

"Heroes." I rest my elbows over my kneels, hunching over so I can look up at the girl's face.

Emma scowls. "I'm not a hero. I didn't do anything to save Julian's father, or Mark."

_And I wasn't there to save Zeb. At least your friend didn't die for your mistake. _"I'm sorry," I say. "I know how it is to watch someone you care about become evil. Become something you can't save."

But Emma is shaking her head. "Mark didn't go Dark. He got taken away."

I frown. "Taken away?"

"They didn't want him to drink from the Cup because of his faerie blood," says Emma. "Only Mark and Helen have faerie blood. They had the same mother, but she left them with Mr. Blackthorn when they were small. Julian and the others had a different mom."

"Oh," I say, not wanting to press too hard, even though I desperately want to know more. There was something about the faeries that bothered ever since I came back from the apartment with Sebastian. I have no proof that they're working for him, but that feels like the case. But I can't just blindly cast an accusation like that. Besides, my word hasn't exactly been as trusted lately as it used to be. "I know Helen. Does Mark look like her?"

"Yeah – Helen and Mark have pointy ears and light hair. None of the Blackthorns are blond. They all have brown hair except Ty, and no one knows why. Livvy doesn't have it, and she's his twin."

He must have been the strange ten-year-old. I have a feeling I'll be learning more about him someday. "So they didn't want Mark to drink from the Cup?" Sebastian never particularly hated Downworlders, but that didn't mean he liked them as much as I do.

"Maybe it doesn't work if you have Downworlder blood," she suggests.

"Maybe," I mumble. Something occurs to me then, and I reach out and put one hand over Emma's to grasp a feel of her emotions. Her aura seems calm, but I calm her down a tad bit more before I ask what I dread to find the answer to. "He . . . did he Turn your parents?"

"No – no." I lift my hand, and her voice shakes. "They're dead. They weren't at the Institute; they were investigating a report of demon activity. Their bodies washed up on the beach after the attack. I could have gone with them, but I wanted to stay back at the Institute with Jules. If I had just gone –"

"You'd be dead too," I say firmly."You're a good Shadowhunter, Emma. I can tell. My friends are incredible Shadowhunters, and you remind me of them. If you're as good as they are, then that means your parents must have been really good too. Something that killed them isn't something you could have saved them from." I touch my ring, twisting it on my finger. "Heroes aren't always the ones who win. They're . . . they're the ones who lose, sometimes. But they keep fighting. They keep coming back. They don't give up. That's what makes them heroes." It's a loose definition, considering anyone, evil or good, could insert themselves into that idea. But every villain is a hero in his own mind, right?

Emma draws a shaky breath, but before she can say anything there's a knock on the door. I half-turn as it opens, letting in light from the hall outside, along with Jace and Clary. Clary looks somewhat relieved to see me.

"Artemis," she says.

I hear some sort of squeak behind me. When I glance back, Emma is clutching her sword, looking between us with very large eyes. I almost laugh.

"The council's over," Jace says. "And I don't think Jia's any too pleased you came running back here."

"Am I in trouble?"

"As usual." He smirks. "We're all leaving. You coming?"

I shake my head. "I'll meet you at your house. You guys can fill me in one what happened at the Council then."

Clary hesitates. "Get Aline or Helen to come with you, okay? The Consul's house is just down the street from the Inquisitor's."

"Gotcha." I turn back to Emma as they walk out, who's still staring at me.

"You know Jace Lightwood? And Clary Fray?"

I smile. "I did say my friends were incredible Shadowhunters. But how do you know them?"

"They're famous! Jace is the best Shadowhunter. The _best. _And Clary can create magic runes – everyone says they have angel blood."

"Just a bit," I say.

"But you have a lot."

I frown. "How did you –"

"They said your name was Artemis. Everyone knows you too." She lowers her voice a little. "You dated Sebastian Morgenstern."

The way everyone says 'dated' always bothered me. They say it as if we had had just any regular mortal connection. It wasn't like I had a fling that ended when I found out he was scheming behind my back. It wasn't as if he was just some temporary boyfriend. Sebastian was _it _for me. He was the man who would become my husband, father my kids, and grow old with me. "I did. Though you don't sound very disgusted with me."

"Well, you didn't know he was bad when you fell for him, right?" she says. "You're an angel. That's what everyone says. You wouldn't have fallen for someone if you knew they were evil."

Well I can safely say that that didn't make me feel any better. I sigh. "No, I knew. I heard the stories. But he was different when I met him, Emma. He was still bad, but he wasn't bad when he was with me. I messed it up. That's what made him really bad. I –" I should have stayed with him. I should have just gone along with his plan and convinced him to drop it later. He would have listened to me. Hell, he even _said_ he wouldn't do it if I had stayed.

"Sebastian's doing all this because he's mad at you?"

I cringe, expecting her to scream at me. Blame me for what happened to Mr. Blackthorn and the deaths of everyone from the fallen Institutes.

I feel a hand on my own, and I look up. Emma's expression is soft. "He's doing this because you broke up with him, right? Then it's his fault. Not yours. You didn't know he would do this, did you?"

But I _did. _He _told me he would do it. _"He said . . . he said if I left, he would do it. He would raise hell. It's my fault."

She makes a face. "That's stupid. Why would you stay with him if he said something like that? Then the only reason you'd be with him is because otherwise he would kill a bunch of people."

I'm really, really stunned. "You're defending me?"

"I guess." She shrugs. "I'm not pardoning what happened at the Institute. But I don't think you should take all the blame for it. He's doing all this. Your crime was loving him."

Now that's something I could get tattooed on my wrists, to look like cuffs probably. I'd write it in Latin, or the old languages of heaven, so no one but me or the angels could read it. "I guess it was."

She points to my hand. "Is that his ring? He was wearing something like that when he . . . when . . ."

I nod. "It's a copy. He gave me the real one, but I gave it back."

"Why do you wear it? And on your marriage finger?"

"Well, because . . ." I twist the ring again, out of habit. "To remind me, I guess."

"To remind you what he's done?"

I smile sadly. "Yeah." _To remind me what I can have, if I'm able to save him._


	5. Chapter 5

5

Apparently I'm allergic to Lilith's blood.

After I got back from the Council and went Amatis's house with Clary's family (God bless them, Jocelyn insisted I stay with them for as long as I remain in Idris), I was damned with the worst cold I can recall having in years. Runny, red nose, watery eyes, scratchy throat, and incessant sneezing.

"I wonder, did you ever get an allergic reaction when you kissed Sebastian?" Clary asks. It's one of the few times I've heard her mention his name in such a relaxed manner. But I guess seeing me sick puts her in a good mood – she thinks it's hilarious.

"If I did, things would have turned out very differently." I blow my nose in a loud, wet honk and toss the tissue into the overflowing trashcan. By the Angel, I feel like hell. "Where are you going? You're getting dressed too early."

"Weapons shop," she says. "Jace's taking me."

I perk up, which is my mistake, because Clary arches a brow. "Wanna come?"

"No – no," I say quickly. "It's your date." I will not third wheel. I will not third wheel.

"You know I don't care. Neither does Jace."

You ever just _hear _the lie in someone's voice? I sigh. Clary means well, and I love her for that. She's more attuned to my recent miseries, and if she thinks something is going to cheer me up, then at some point I'll end up doing it.

I don't really feel like arguing, especially with a cold. So when Jace shows up and sees me dressed beside Clary, I offer him an apologetic shrug and no more. Luckily, he doesn't seem too upset.

The weapons shop is gorgeous. I never thought I'd describe a weapons shop as gorgeous, but there really isn't any other word for it. The walls are littered with weapons ranging from beautifully deadly to sharp and tear-eliciting. A massive chandelier hangs from a ceiling painted with rococo designs of golden arrows in flight. Real arrows are displayed on carved wooden stands. Tibetan longswords, their pommels decorated with turquoise, silver, and coral, hang on the walls alongside Burmese _dha _blades with hammered metal tangs in copper and brass.

"So what brought this on?" I ask curiously, picking up one delicate arrow. I consider buying it to surprise Alec, but then I see the price and gently set it back down. "This desire for a sword?"

"When a twelve-year-old tells you the weapon you have is lame, it's time to change it up," Clary says.

The women behind the counter laughs. "Well, you've come to the best place."

"Is this your shop?" she asks, reaching to test the point of a long sword with an iron hilt.

The woman smiles. "Yes. I'm Diana. Diana Wrayburn."

She, Clary, and Jace chat for a short while, while I absently look over the weapons. I have no intention of buying anything, since I already have my signature battle axe. But some of these really _are_ tempting.

". . . is called Heosphoros."

I pause.

"_What was the shortsword called?" I asked._

"_Heosphoros," Sebastian said. "It means dawn-bringer. My blade, Phaesphoros, means –"_

". . . light-bringer," Diana says. "You have doubtless seen Phaesphoros already, for Valentine Morgenstern carried it, and now his son carries it after him."

I turn, not surprised to see that the woman is looking at me. I pretend to feign interest in the small box of arrowheads on her desk as I listen to them talk.

"You know who we are," Jace says. It isn't a question. "Who Clary is."

"The Shadowhunter world is small. I'm on the Council. I've seen you give testimony, Valentine's daughter."

"I don't understand," Clary says. "Valentine would have never given up a Morgenstern sword. How do you have it?"

"His wife sold it," Diana replies, and I smile, despite myself. "to my father, who owned this shop in the days before the Uprising. It was hers. It should be yours now."

Clary shudders. "I've seen two men bear the larger version of that sword, and I hated them both. There are no Morgensterns in this world now who are dedicated to anything but evil."

I twist the Morgenstern ring on my finger. "There's you," I say softly.

I can tell she's looking at me, but I don't return the gaze.

"I couldn't afford it anyway," she says. "It's gold – black gold – and _adamas. _I don't have the money for that kind of weapon."

"I'll give it to you," Diana says. "You're right that people hate the Morgensterns; they tell stories of how the swords were created to contain deadly magic, to slay thousands at once. They're just stories, of course, no truth to them. But still – it's not the sort of item I could sell elsewhere. Or would necessarily want to. It should go to good hands."

"I don't want it," she whispers.

"If you flinch from it, you give it power over you." I force my hand to drop from the ring. Diana continues. "Take it, and cut your brother's throat with it, and take back the honor of your blood."

She slides the sword across the counter to Clary, and I turn to watch her take it. To take up the vow, to swear to clear her family name. And I wouldn't blame her if she did.

Only, that's not what she does.

Wordlessly, she picks it up, and hands it to me.

My eyes widen slightly. "Clary –"

"I'm not the only one the sword holds power over," she says simply. "You need it as much as I do."

I look at it in her grip. The black stars wink along the blade, a light like fire running, sparking along the steel. I reach towards it, and the image that comes to my mind makes me stop. Sebastian, standing on a hill overlooking a burning city, with Phaesphoros in his palm, and me beside him, Heosphoros in my own.

"The sword doesn't hold any power over me," I lie immediately. "It's you he wronged, not me. You must kill him. Not me."

She hesitates.

_Maia! _I bark, throwing my mental chat only for her as far as I can, which is probably a few countries. _Please tell me you have something you need me to help you with._

_Arta? _Her shock is almost palpable. _I haven't – wow, we haven't talked in awhile. I – there's a lot of stuff happening. Is Clary with you?_

I frown. _Yeah? _

_Ah hell. Just – come to the Praetor Lupus. That's where I'm going. I'll explain things there._

_Gotcha. _"I have to go," I say briskly. "I have to help Maia with something."

She frowns. "Maia and Jordan are watching Simon."

A part of me starts to worry when I wonder if Maia's urgency has something to do with that cute little vampire. "It's nothing big. I just – I'm already late. I'm sorry. I'll meet you back at the house."

Clary shrugs, but I can tell she knows something's up. "Alright. See you later, then."

"Not too later," I say lamely, and teleport to the Praetor Lupus.

* * *

It's snowing.

That's the first thing I notice when I get there. I frown, manifesting a coat for myself, then dissolving it away when I realize it's actually humid outside. I reach a hand out, letting a flake settle in my palm.

My sniffley breath catches in my throat.

It's ash.

I ignore all manner of courtesy and teleport straight to the top of the hill, at the tip of the slope the Praetor was build at the base of. I should be looking at a golden building, beautiful against the gray sky. Instead, I see a gout of black smoke. The smell that carries through the air hits me, and I cover my mouth, trying not to gag. I know that smell. It's the smell of the dead. Why is it here?

"Angel?"

_Oh._

I turn abruptly. Sebastian stands in front of me, Morgenstern sword on his hip, dressed in casual black Shadowhunter clothes. But he's bloody. From his pale hair to his black boots, he's splattered with blood.

"Sebastian?" I take a step towards him.

"It isn't my blood," he says, as if reading my mind. "But I'm glad you worry for me, Angel. Come."

When I don't, he comes to me. His strong hands settle on me, one around my hip, drawing me against the hard line of his body, the other brushing a streak of ash from my cheek as he bends down and kisses me.

I'm not a weak person, but I'm weak for him. The moment his soft lips touch mine, I forget all sense of what's happening. His hands reach for me, one wrapping around my waist to draw me into against his body, the other tangling in my hair. I learn his kiss all over again – the clash of our teeth, his biting down on my lower lip, tugging it back with a wicked smile. His tongue twisting with my own, his hands roaming my body, tracing, caressing, gripping, bruising –

I yank myself away, turn my head, and sneeze.

He's so startled he doesn't react at first. I sneeze again and rub my nose. My eyes are watery, from the ash or allergies I'm not sure.

"Arta – are you sick?" His bemusement is almost funny.

"Side effect of being forced to drink from your precious Cup," I snarl, only it comes out angry and stuffy. I don't sound threatening at all.

He smiles, using both hands to tug me back to him. "I'm glad a cold is the worst you got away with. When I saw you on the floor, vomiting blood – I thought you were dying. I thought I was going to lose you." His smile fades quickly, and he brushes a strand of hair from my face, drawing me close to kiss the top of my head. "I missed you, sweetheart."

"What did you do here?" I whisper, remembering the havoc at the Berlin Institute. "What did you do to the Praetor Lupus?"

He glances over his shoulder, nonchalantly. "I haven't finished yet."

I push against his chest, forcing myself out of his arms. "_What have you done?!_" I scream at him.

"I couldn't watch London burn," he says calmly, walking towards me. "So I turned my efforts elsewhere. It's time the werewolves allied themselves with us."

"There is no 'us'!" I shout. "There's you, and your lost cause!"

"Lost cause?" He tilts his head. "Oh Angel, if only you could see what's coming. You will, eventually. I have a throne beside me saved for you."

"Is it the floor?" My voice trembles. "The last time we talked, when you had first taken Lilith's blood, you said you would chain me to your throne in hell."

"I was disoriented. I was angry." He waves a hand, as if his threat, the one that had haunted me for months on end, was nothing more than a misinterpreted joke. "I hadn't adjusted to my mother's blood, then."

"And you have now?"

"Yes." He grins wide. "I'm unstoppable, Artemis. Not even Jace could hope to contend with me."

"I can," I whisper. "I can stop you."

"You don't need to stop me." He takes my left hand and tilts it to where he can see the Morgenstern ring clearly. "You need to wait. I'll come for you, when this is all over. I never intended to live without you, I knew that. I always did. It'll be like when we first met in the apartment. We'll have eternity together. And it will be perfect." He kisses the back of my hand. "I'll even let you decide the name for our son."

My skin chills, and when Sebastian draws back, I see Valentine, smiling with promise.

"I will never bear a child of Lilith's blood," I whisper. "My body can't carry a monster."

His hand stills against my own. His expression is unreadable, but for a split second he looks as if he has just been slapped. And I feel the sting, because I regret saying the words.

Then he smiles, and my blood chills.

"How do you know my child doesn't grow in you already?" he says. "We never _were_ careful, all those nights in my bed."

I clutch my stomach, and for a moment I swear I can feel the kick of feet against my womb.

No. It's – it's been months since we were last together. It isn't possible. It would have shown by now.

I drop my hands, forcing them to my side. "I –"

"You're sick," he says suddenly, all trace of malice gone. "I shouldn't be troubling you with this when your sick. Heal, Angel. We can talk another time."

"No!" I'm not done talking. I rush to him, but stop myself when I realize he's grinning. Wide. I almost threw myself into his arms, like he wanted. "No," I repeat, and stand my ground.

Around then is when I hear the sound of a truck approaching the scene. I glance behind me, feeling dread when I recognize the vehicle. "Maia, Jordan," I whisper.

"Is that who it is?" Sebastian muses, coming to stand beside me. "I've heard about them. Are they friends of yours?"

"Don't hurt them!" I shout, but he's already laughing. Something cold touches my shoulder, and my head starts to spin. My legs go out from under me, but he's there, gently guiding my body to the ground.

"Till next time, my love," he says, and blows me a kiss.

The last thing I see before I black out are his black boots walking through the ash-covered ground, sending up puffs of white with each step.

* * *

My eyes open at the sound of sobbing. I give my sick body no time to wake up – I force myself to my feet and stumble to the sound. I see the source, but I don't truly comprehend it. Why is Maia crying? Why is Jordan asleep in her lap? Why is his chest soaked in blood?

Beyond them, I see the remains of the Praetor Lupus. Burned wood kissed with ash, with puddles of white water scattered about. Water and fire go hand in hand. _You are the water to my fire, _Sebastian had once told me.

And then I see the bodies. There are so many. All lying face down, mostly young. I frown. They're arranged in the strangest way, though. Some in loops, some straight, some side by side. A pattern? I manifest a staircase, and step back one step at a time. With each foot I climb into the air, the pattern seems to make more and more sense. By the time I reach the top, I see what the bodies have arranged to spell.

GET WELL SOON.


	6. Chapter 6

6

The Spiritual Labyrinth has never been viewed by anyone not of warlock blood. It hasn't been documented, mapped, or even seen by the Nephilim. All warlocks who go there are sworn to a vow that, if broken by sharing the location of the labyrinth, will kill the bearer.

My mother didn't take that vow.

I said before that my parents had all memory of themselves wiped once the Clave became too dependent on them. This includes _everyone _they encountered – Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike. Meaning nobody remembers when my mother visited the labyrinth, meaning she was free to tell me the location in case of emergencies.

While I'm sure what I have isn't really the best reason for showing up, I wanted to be the one who delivered the sample of blood from the Cup. I didn't want to risk having a Nephilim carry it, in case they somehow end up losing or drinking it (shit happens).

This is the one time I don't keep to my habit of teleporting _outside _of magical places and waiting for permission to enter. Keeping a small shield up, I walk to the only white oak in the forest of brown and press my palm to the bark. A spark of light, like from the tip of a firecracker, runs from the left base of the tree, arches, and stops at the right base to form a curved door. The movement reminds me of Barbados's glass dorm, but I suppress the memory.

The door opens and inside I see a glass staircase leading to blackness. I open my palm and a white orb, like a miniature sun, lights my way. The door shuts behind me as I descend into the labyrinth.

Dirt walls laced with white roots give way to black stone. The moment my feet touch cobblestone, the hallway lights up. I step back, surprised to see it's way bigger than I expect. I close my fist, extinguishing the flame, and continue through the hallway. My footsteps echo in a startling silence. I expected the labyrinth to be alive with commotion and magic. The hallway I'm in is well-lit with grey, black, and white orbs embedded into the stone, each encasing a fire. I can almost taste the scent of warlock here.

Just as I reach the hallway, a group rounds the corner, obviously expecting an attack. I hold up my hands. "I'm –"

"We know who you are," the woman at the front says, and I tense. She says it as if I'm someone of a negative reputation, but then again, I guess I am. She's probably worried I'm a spy for Sebastian.

"I'm not with –"

"We know that, too." She steps forward, and I get a better look at her. Her skin is dark and contrasts heavily with her solid white hair, which hangs in a side braid over her left shoulder. Her ears are long, white, and pointed, like a lemur's. Her blue coral dress sways as she walks towards me, confidently, as if I'm as harmless as a flea. "What we don't know is why you are here. Or how you found us in the first place."

"Heaven knows all," I say. That answer seems to work for everyone, even though it's total bullshit. "I came with – or really, for – help."

She raises an eyebrow. "There are warlocks for hire. Go to them."

"No, this isn't like that." I open the air pocket and pluck the vial of blood from it. It's filled to the brim, dark red in color. "This is blood from the Infernal Cup. Sebastian's Cup."

The warlock doesn't seem stunned or anything, but her friends do.

"We were hoping to get a sample," she says. "All the bodies of the Endarkened have proved useless. How did you get this?"

"I'd rather not talk about that. It wasn't fun."

"We'll do what we can," she says, and I hand it to her. "Is there anything else?"

I shake my head. "Send me a message through Jia Penhallow as soon as you get results. Thank you . . ."

"Felicity," she says, filling in my pause. "And thank _you_ for the sample, Angel child."

She turns and heads back to her group, and I take that as my cue to leave. I walk away, wringing my fingers together, suddenly wishing I had asked for a tour.

"Hold up, Angel girl."

I frown, glancing behind me at the male voice. The warlock standing there was part of Felicity's party. He's tall, with hair as white as hers and startlingly purple eyes. Like, _really _purple. I guess you could say he's handsome, but in a sort of crazed way.

"You need something?" I ask, crossing my arms.

He arches a brow. "Polite to Felicity but not to me?"

"I don't appreciate being called 'angel girl'."

"That's what you are, right? An angel."

He's teasing me. I don't know how I can tell, but I can. He looks completely serious as he speaks, but there's a glint in his eyes that tells me he isn't all there. "I'm mostly angel. Not complete. Or else we wouldn't be talking."

"Because I'm demon-spawn and all." He wiggles his fingers at the words. "My name is Malcolm. Malcolm Fade. High Warlock of Los Angeles."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're a long way from home, Fade."

"Are you a football coach?"

"No?"

"Then don't call me by my last name." His manner changes completely, and he grins. "I was hoping to talk to you."

Most warlocks do. I'm basically a human angel, the way they're basically human demons. "Well, you got me."

We stand there in silence.

"Well?" I demand, uncomfortable.

He blinks. "Sorry. Your aura is remarkable. It's a color I've never seen before."

"It is?"

"No. It's pink, like everyone else. Now walk with me."

I can honestly say I've never been more weirded out by a living creature, but if it means getting the tour I wanted, then oh well. I follow.

No surprise, the labyrinth gets bigger the farther we walk. Stone floors give way to carpet. Orbs become black candle-lit chandeliers that provide a spooky atmosphere to the already spooky place. The labyrinth is literally a maze, divided into dozens of twisting hallways and massively different rooms. I don't get to look inside any – all the doors are closed. The more we wander, the more I hope he isn't trying to get me lost.

"So what exactly _are _you?" he asks.

"I'm what everyone says I am," I say. "Angel-blooded. Like Jace and Clary, but with way more. I'm powerful, but I can't perform miracles."

"Can you die?"

Why does everyone keep asking me that? "I can. Certain conditions have to be met. Once they are, I can be killed." The conditions were met awhile ago. Even then, there are still certain circumstances in which I can be killed. Basically, I'm pretty set. Unless God decides he's sick of seeing my face on earth and decides to smite me on the spot. I wouldn't be surprised.

He smiles. "I'm sure you were startled when you realized you were vulnerable."

I pause. "How did you know?" I didn't tell him the conditions were met, did I?

"I'm familiar with your kind," he says simply. "Very rare. Very sad."

"Sad?"

"The last one I met was a boy. He was eighteen, and had a direct bloodline to Michael. He had a hero complex. It didn't take him very far."

"What . . . happened to him?"

"His conditions were met," he says simply. "He went the same way you fear you'll go. Probably fear. I'm just guessing, to be honest. I usually don't admit that – I like keeping an air of mystery around me."

I crack a smile. "You don't care to be mysterious around me?"

"I try not to deceive possible allies." He leans in close, as if sharing a big secret. But he keeps talking at normal volume. "Between you me and everyone else here, a lot of people question your alliance."

"No duh," I can't help but say. "But what can I do?"

"Prove your loyalty. By picking a side. Hopefully ours."

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you recruiting me, Malcolm?"

"Maybe."

I smile. "I'm loyal to anyone against Lilith. Consider me recruited."

* * *

When I get home, it's dark. I plan to head back to Amatis's house and check up Maia later, but the sky puts a damper on my plans. Specifically, it's the red and gold exploding in it, outshining the stars. I hear the sound of yelling, running, and I turn my gaze to the demon towers, all lighting up one by one. The battle lights.

"I didn't even get to eat lunch," I complain, sprinting up to the Gard. The call is only for the Shadowhunters, but I count as Nephilim, right?

It's only when I reach the courtyard do I consider the fact that this probably has something to do with Lilith. And, of course, Sebastian.

Against one wall is a massive, swirling square of whirling air and emptiness. A Portal? I push through the crowd and look harder. Dark night sky, burning white, green planes. I stop in my tracks. It's the Adamant Citadel.

"The Adamant Citadel is besieged!" It's Jia's voice, rising over the shouts of the crowd. She moves and stands by the Portal, Robert Lightwood on her other side. That's when I notice Jace and Clary at the front of the crowd, both looking shaken. "We go to the aid of the Iron Sisters! Shadowhunters who are armed and ready, please report to me!"

I shove my way beside Jace and Clary. Jace is arguing with Robert Lightwood, demanding to be let through. I glance back at the number of Shadowhunters uneasily. There can't be more than fifty or sixty. It isn't enough. I know it – it's a gut feeling.

". . . no need," Robert says, shaking his head. "Sebastian has attempted a sneak attack. He has only twenty or thirty Endarkened warriors with him. There are enough warriors for the job without us sending our children through."

"I am _not a child,_" Jace snarls around the same time Robert spots me.

"You of all people should not be here," he says, eyes narrowed.

"Honestly, I think me of all people _should _be here," I say, anger flooding through me. "The biggest mistake you will ever make, Robert Lightwood, is underestimating Sebastian."

"Maybe you made that mistake, child, but we will not."

I clench my teeth. Robert Lightwood was one of the few who never really looked at me the same after Sebastian. I'm about to go off on him, but something catches my ear, and I fall silent.

". . . told us that we can try to capture the Endarkened, bring them back here," a woman near me says. "See if they can be cured. Which means maybe they can save Jason."

My eyes flash, I can feel it. Robert Lightwood doesn't flinch, but I can sense his sudden spark of fear. "You're not. You're _not _letting people whose relatives were taken in the attacks go through. You're not telling them the Endarkened can be saved."

Clary's jaw drops. "You know they can't be saved!"

"We don't know that for sure," he says grimly.

"Yes we do," I say. "You're leading them to slaughter. The Endarkened can't be saved – they aren't _human_ anymore. When these soldiers see the faces of people they know, they'll hesitate, they'll want to save them –"

"It'll be a massacre," Jace concludes bleakly. "Robert, you have to stop this."

But he's already shaking his head. "This is the will of the Clave. This is what they want to see done."

I almost laugh. "This is what they want? Then have them stay here and stab them all – the results will be the same, whichever side of the Portal they are sent to."

"Don't you dare joke," Robert snaps.

"Listen to me –"

"Don't you tell me _fifty _Nephilim can't defeat _twenty_ Endarkened warriors." Shadowhunters begin to go through the Portal, guided by Jia. Panic races down my chest. Most of them are too old or too young, most just now seizing up weapons from a pile provided by the armory, before passing through. My fingers twitch with the urge to shut the Portal, to save these people. But it's already too late.

I spin on Robert Lightwood and flick a spell out, one to try and calm his mind. "Listen to me – this is the exact response Sebastian is expecting." My voice is almost a plea. "If he's come with only twenty warriors, then he's got a reason. He has backup, I swear –"

"He can't have backup!" Robert's voice rises, but I don't even flinch. This is Sebastian we're talking about. _Of course he has backup. _"You cannot open a Portal to the Adamant Citadel unless the Iron Sisters allow it. They're allowing us, but Sebastian must have come over land. He didn't expect us to be warning for him at the Citadel. He knows we know he can't be tracked; he doubtless thought we were watching Institutes. This is a gift –"

"Sebastian doesn't give gifts!" Jace shouts. "You're being blind!"

"We are not blind!" Robert roars. "You may be frightened of him, Jace, but he is just a boy –"

That's it. That's where I stop listening. He isn't going to understand, not until all the Shadowhunters he sent in are dead for tears and the Citadel is burned to the ground.

Robert turns and wheels away, leaving Jace looking as if he had just been slapped. I didn't listen to what had just been said, but I assume it was low. Not surprising – people say cruel things when they're afraid.

"I'm going through," I say, manifesting my axe.

"I'm coming," Jace says immediately.

Clary reaches out, touching my shoulder. "They won't let us."

"They don't need to _let _us," I say dryly. The Portal is open to all Shadowhunters answering the call to battle. "The question is, are _you _going to stay here?"

"You know I would never."

Around me, I hear Shadowhunters chatting calmly as if they're going into any regular battle. Some talk about the Council, that they have a real chance to stop Sebastian, that he failed at London and can foiled again.

I take a breath, suddenly realizing what I'm doing. I'm taking me, Jace, and Clary into one of Sebastian's sieges. The three people in the world he wants with him the most, I'm hand-delivering. But we're also the only three people who could ever stop him.

_Yeah, because we're the only ones who don't underestimate him._

"We run together," Jace says. Clary takes his open hand, and offers her free one to me. I accept it.

"Together," I agree, and we do.

* * *

The volcanic landscape is bleached with snowfall. The plain spreads out and ends at a line of distant mountains, blue-black against an ink sky. I stand, taking a few steps forward. The snow is thick in some places, thin in others. Jagged rocks slice through ice and snow, along with bare trees and skeleton hedges.

The moon hides behind the clouds, clouds creeping through a smooth, dark sky. If it wasn't for the sounds of battle, it would have been a very peaceful place. Lights blaze around me, from seraph blades. I grip my axe tight and run my finger down the blade. The cut heals quickly, and I let my blood dry on the blade. It's no seraph blade, but to the Endarkened, it should hurt like hell, now that they have Lilith's blood in them.

_It won't hurt Sebastian. Your blood could never hurt Sebastian._

"Jace, Clary!" I call. The Portal deposited us a few feet away from each other. I glance over my shoulder, glad to see they're at my side. Jace is armed with a right-handed sword, one he must have grabbed from the pile outside. I wave my hand, changing the design to a left-handed weapon that would better suit him. He says nothing, but I know he's thankful.

Clary turns to me, coppery hair dusted with flakes. "Are you sure you want to be here?"

"Are you?" I didn't mean to be curt, but that's how the words come out.

"Stop, both of you. We don't have time to fight," Jace says. "Stay close to me."

We make our way to the top of the ridge as a group. I can smell the Endarkened from where I am. It's strange – it seems as if they're everywhere. But when the Citadel appears, a fortress of silver and seraph-blade material, there don't seem to be that many. It's the same numbers Robert Lightwood said there would be.

_No. Trust your instincts. There are more Endarkened, they're just hiding somewhere._

The landscape of the Citadel is black and white, like a chessboard of snow and rock. I shiver. It's like being at the Burren again, only this time, I feel twice as nervous as I did then. The Dark Shadowhunters stand there, dressed in red, like drops of blood against the snow. They're waiting with their dark blades in their hands, between the Nephilim and the Citadel. Though they're somewhat far away, I can still see their smiles. My blood chills.

I can sense the uneasiness too, around the Nephilim around me. The battle-hungry vibe had faded. I think they may, if a bit, understand what's going to happen.

"Where is he?" Clary whispers. "Where is Sebastian?"

I shake my head. There are too many red-clad Shadowhunters, all with their hoods up. I could have sensed Sebastian from his blood, but they all have a share of Lilith's poison in them. The only difference is that Sebastian would have a higher concentration, a higher level of power. But in this mess – it's a blend. He's lost in there, somewhere.

"Where are the Iron Sisters?" I whisper. My worst fear was seeing them rounded up and being forced to drink. But none of them are here.

"They'll stay inside the Citadel," Jace says. "They have to protect what's inside. The arsenal. That's what Sebastian's here for – the weapons. The Sisters will have surrounded the interior armory with their bodies. If he gets through the gates, the Sisters will destroy the Citadel before they let him have it." His voice is grim.

I twist the ring on my finger. "Sebastian must know that. If he knows, then why –"

A scream cuts me off and makes my heart jar into a quickened pace. I turn slowly in time to see a man in worn gear go down with the blade of a Dark Shadowhunter in his chest.

I hiss and lunge forward with my axe, but someone stops me. A woman, jerking my hand back before I can throw my axe at him.

"Let go of me!" I shout at her.

"Put your weapon down!" she pleads. She doesn't wait for me to do so. Instead she pushes past me towards the Dark Shadowhunter, putting herself directly in my line of swing. I can't kill him without carving her skull.

"Jason!" she cries, and I blanche. "Jason, please." Her voice trembles as she reaches her hand out to him.

My stomach rolls. He pulls out a new knife and looks at her expectantly.

"Please _no_," Cary says. "Don't – don't go near him –"

But the blonde woman is already too close. She's just a step away from the Dark Shadowhunter. I turn, unable to watch the rest. I know what will happen. Instead I look back at the line of Endarkened behind us – and frown.

They're still waiting.

I look ahead then, behind the Nephilim.

And straight at the second army of Endarkened coming towards us.

"From the back!" I shout. "There's more! There's more!"

I hear a scream somewhere, and I hear Jason's laughter. Panic spreads, the Dark Shadowhunters advance and draw their weapons. The Nephilim back away, but there's nowhere to go. There's no more order.

"Hammer and anvil!" Jace shouts. I spin around just as he jerks Clary back, away from a head. The blonde Shadowhunter's head. I step around it. "It's a trap!" Jace yells over the sound of the fighting. "Arta, teleport her out of here!"

"I can't!" I say. "The Citadel has a force around it – I can't teleport in or out."

"Then make a Portal!" he shouts. "Just get out of here!"

"Give me your hand," I say, and he frowns but does it. I grasp his palm, and look him straight in the eye. "Push out some of the fire."

His eyes widen. "Arta –"

"We're going straight into that battle – I want to make sure I can help her. Give me the heavenly fire."

Of course, I don't mean all of it. But we've done it before – Jace can give me small amounts of the fire, which puts me on some sort of god-like hype. Only, it burns out quickly, because my body uses it up greedily.

My palm burns and I hiss. He grips my hand harder, clenches his teeth, and for a moment a star glows between our palms.

And then it cuts itself into my body, and gold flows through my veins, vanishing just as fast as it came. I can feel the fire dancing in my body, and I let go before Jace can let out too much. We learned before that the fire doesn't like to be too much separated from its main host.

I spin around. "Let's go."

He and Clary share a moment. I expect her to snap at him, to tell her that she can stay and fight. But a look of understanding passes between them, and he lets her go without another word to plunge into the fight.

I grab her hand and we tear through the crowd. I somehow manage to keep sure-footing, while steadying Clary as we run. I glance over my shoulder, trying to pinpoint Jace, to make sure he's okay. I can see him fighting, like a swift wind, a feral gale. I see fire in his veins, lighting him up like a star. Sword outstretches, he fights like a warrior of heaven.

As we continue, I realize that the wall we need to Portal is directly through the battle. Which means . . .

I spin back around. "Fuck it! We gotta fight our way through!"

"I was hoping you'd say that," Clary says, and we both stop running to stop and face the Endarkened.

* * *

I hate running. I may have mentioned this before, but I'll say it again – I hate running.

That's basically all I've been doing.

Every Dark Shadowhunter that has come near me refuses to fight me. They turn away as if I'm a ghost and sprint as fast as they can away. At first I thought it was because they were afraid of me, which really did something good for my pride, but then I noticed they were doing the same to Clary. That's when I realized it must have been Sebastian – he must have ordered them not to hurt us.

"God!" I shout, swinging my axe uselessly after another fleeing Endarkened. I could easily take advantage of their hesitation and still go after them, but I don't want to leave Clary alone for too long. She isn't in any danger, and she can handle herself well, but I know she won't kill any of them.

There are twice as many Endarkened as we had counted on. Of course, I'm not surprised. In fact, when I get home, I'll be sure to gnaw Robert Lightwood's ears off for this. But for now, I have to help. The majority of Shadowhunters are being pushed back down to the plain, where the battle was the thickest, streaks of white and red and the glow of seraph blades.

My size has actually done me a hell of a lot of good here – it makes it easy to dart around through the battle. I move around a woman, cut down by a Dark Shadowhunter twice her size. I skid past a Shadowhunter, tears streaming down his face as he looks over the body of an Endarkened in red. A man falls to his knees in front of a red Shadowhunter, who looks at him indifferently before sinking her sword between his shoulder blades. No one stops her.

I burst through the other side of the battle and at the edge of the Citadel. I spin around behind me, waiting for Clary to pop out beside me. She was next to me as we moved through the crowd . . .

I wave my hand in a sharp, long gesture so it's outstretch to my side. A whip of light appears in my palm and I rear it back and send it forward into the crowd. I feel it pull taut, and yank with all my might. Clary comes running out a few moments later, clinging tightly to the other end of the whip.

"Make a Portal," I gasp out. "I'll cover you."

Clary does what I say and sprints around the corner for a clear wall, stele in her hand. I spin back around, making sure no one follows us. After a moment's hesitation, I throw a disguise over myself. Red cloak, blonde hair, green eyes. I need to do the same for Clary.

I race around the corner, but she isn't there.

"Fuck!" I shout, and follow her scent back into battle. It's laced with the familiar darkness of Sebastian's first lieutenant.

I spare no Endarkened that comes near me. My palms are burning with heaven, and whenever someone is remotely in my way, I burn them. Clary – I have to get to her before Amatis gives her to Sebastian. I run harder, horrified at the idea of what he might do to her if he has her. Would it be any different than what he would do to me? He isn't my Sebastian anymore.

* * *

"Where did they come from?" Clary demands. She and Amatis were making their way past the battle. "The Endarkened. The Clave said there were only twenty, how did they –"

Amatis laughed. "As if I'd tell you. Sebastian has allies in more places that you'd know, little one."

"Amatis," Clary tries to keep her voice steady. "You're one of us. Nephilim. You're Luke's sister."

"He's a Downworlder, and no brother of mine. He should have killed himself when Valentine told him to."

"You don't mean that. You were happy to see him when we came to your house. I know you were."

"I was trapped then," Amatis says. The blade's tip between her shoulder blades is more than uncomfortable; it hurts. "Thinking I needed approval of the Clave and Council. The Nephilim took everything from me. They have no hearts. You think they are kind, that the Nephilim are kind, that your angel friend is a savior. But goodness is not kindness, and she belongs to Sebastian. She will join him – she will take the throne beside his, and be glad that she's there."

"Arta isn't one of you," Clary sneers. "She has a will. And she will never return to Sebastian's side. Not when she knows he's evil."

"Oh, for Hell's sake, be quiet –" Amatis breaks off, stiffening.

Clary follows her gaze. For a moment, she can't see what the other woman is staring at. She sees the chaos of fighting, blood staining the snow, and the glow of seraph blades bouncing off the white-fire Citadel. Then she realizes that the battle seems to be resolving itself into an odd sort of pattern – something is cutting a path through the middle of the crowd, like a ship slicing through water, leaving chaos in its wake. Two ships. One, a slender black-clad Shadowhunter with bright hair, moving so fast, it's like watching fire spring from ridge to ridge in a forest, catching everything ablaze. The second, a spire of red with a black axe and an aura of gold, fanning that blaze.

Only in this case, the forest was Sebastian's army, Endarkened falling one by one. Falling so quickly, they barely have time to reach for their weapons or fight back. As they fall, the others begin to fall back, confused and uncertain, so that Clary could see the two sparks cutting their way through, the second one making a beeline straight to her.

"Arta," she murmured.

Amatis sucks in a breath of surprise – a moment of distraction, but it's all that's needed.

"Speak of the devil," Arta says, knocking Amatis down with a boot to the back. "And the devil shall appear. Or, well, in this case, the part-Angel."

She tossed her axe in trade for Heosphoros, which was at Amatis's belt. She jammed the tip against the older woman's throat and grinned.

* * *

Amatis's laughter is, honestly, one of the last things I expect to hear.

"You won't kill me," she says. "You haven't got the backbone."

I snort, despite how hard I'm breathing. "You don't know what I'm capable of, pawn."

"It takes one to know one," Amatis grins. "You think the Clave is keeping you because you're good company? Because you spent your time in their enemy's bed?"

I press the point deeper, drawing a dot of blood.

"Arta, stop," Clary says. "Don't kill her."

_I won't, _I tell her. That's all I tell her.

"You have power, Artemis. Why do you waste it with the Nephilim? Even I can see you don't belong with them."

My hand shakes. Not from her words, but from my wear. It's the heavenly fire – I used it too fast and too intensely to get here. And now I've gone and sapped all my energy. "I _am _Nephilim, Amatis. And if you think you can talk me to your side, then your heart isn't the only thing that demon blood ate away."

Amatis smiles. "He knows you'll never stop loving him. How long do you think you can keep saying no, hunter?"

I snarl and drive the point forward.

At least, that's what I mean to do. The earth trembles, and my boot slips and I stumble back, landing on my side. I barely miss Heosphoros's blade. I scramble back, grabbing the sword and clutching the rock with my free hand. Amatis rolls to her knees and grins at me.

And then screams erupts, and the earth erupts with it. A deep, horrible ripping sound tears through the air and I stare in horror as the ground rips itself in half, a massive crack opening in the earth. Rocks, dirt, and chunks of ice rain down into the gap as I scramble to get away from it. Clary is beside me, rapidly backing away from the fault. The chasm widens quickly, like a jagged pit to hell bathed in shadow.

The ground just starts to stop shaking when Amatis laughs. I look up to see the other woman rising to her feet, grinning mockingly. "Give my brother all my love," she calls, and jumps into the chasm.

"No!" I shout, and make a beeline for her. But Clary grabs me and yanks me back before I can follow.

All around me, the Nephilim scramble to get away from the split in the earth as their red-clad enemies sprint past them and throw themselves into the pit. My gaze follows desperately as I search for one in particular, one with white hair.

Clary breaks into a run, and I chase after her. I know I shouldn't run with an unsheathed blade, but I don't care. I search wildly ahead for what she sees, but all I see is black and white.

I understand when we reach Jace. He's on the ground, eyes open, thank the Angel. But he's very pale, and breathing heavily enough to where I can hear it. Brother Zachariah kneels next to him, long pale fingers unsnapping the gear at Jace's shoulder.

"What happened?" I demand. A dozen Iron Sisters gaze back, impassive and silent. There are more on the other side of the chasm, watching as the Endarkened throw themselves into it. It's eerie.

"What happened?" Clary repeats for me.

"Sebastian," Jace says, teeth clenched. She drops to his side as his gear is peeled away, revealing the gash in his shoulder. "Sebastian happened."


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry for the huge wait - I've been so busy lately. Hopefully this mega-long chapter makes up for it :) _

* * *

7

I am, if a little, stunned. How did I miss him? It's not that I particularly wanted Sebastian to seek me out, but it was what I expected he'd do.

_Maybe he's lost interest in you._

Jace's wound shuts my mouth before it can open. It's seeping fire. Not blood, but fire. The color of ichor, the blood of the angels. I reach out, hesitant to touch the wound but ready to absorb the fire if it will help him. Before I can lay a finger on him, a pale hand closes around my wrist, gently, stopping me in place. I look up.

"Zachariah?" I frown.

_I know what you plan to do. It won't work. It'll only give us two dead bodies. _He lets go of me, and I withdraw my hand. He pulls out his stele and carves a rune into his palm. I recognize the Mark – it's one of the few I showed Clary, and hums with power. My dad showed me some of the unknown Marks of heaven, which I shared with her when she started recreating them. She must have shown some to Zachariah.

_Stay still, _he whispers to Jace. _This will end the hurt._

Jace's cry makes me cringe. I've never really heard him scream in pain before. His body half-lifts off the ground, and the fire from his wound rises up, as if excited by the contact. Only, it doesn't stay to Jace. It climbs Zachariah's robes.

The Silent Brother jerks away, but the flames are too fast. They surround him, consume him, and I'm on my feet. I launch myself to Zachariah, taking his fallen stele, and draw a rune in the air. It sticks to the fire from the heat of my determination and will. If I had been a second slower, I don't know what would happen to Zachariah. Heaven's fire is only lethal to the evil. But I wouldn't risk letting it engulf anyone.

The moment the Mark takes effect, I slam my palms into the wall of fire. My eyes fly open as the fire grips _me _with a ferocity that yanks me to my knees. I can see Zachariah now, as the wall thins. I hear Clary yelling something – I hear a lot of yelling, actually – but the roar of the fire drowns it out. Orange burns out the white of the landscape until it's all I can see.

And then it's gone, and the white returns.

Immediately after, it's replaced by black.

* * *

"_That's not how you play."_

_I grin at him. "Yes it is."_

"_The pawns can only move one space. Only the Queen can move like that."_

"_Nuh-uh. I got the black pawns. Black pawns can do whatever the white Queen can do."_

"_Then what can the black Queen do?"_

_I pause, then pick up my Queen and flick aside Zeb's. "That. I win!"_

"_You cheated!" Zeb's white eyes start to water._

_I stop. "Are you crying?"_

"_No!" He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his white shirt. It's the softest shirt I've ever felt – it was from his father. From Heaven. _

"_You're an angel. Angels don't cry."_

_He glares at me, fisting the edges of his sleeves. He doesn't have normal eyes – his eyes are completely white. But I know he's angry. "I'm not completely angel. I'm a little human."_

"_Me too." I pick up the King and set him back on the chessboard. "That's why I won, I think. You're too good to cheat, 'cause you have more angel. I have more human, so I'm more bad."_

_He stares at me. "That's so stupid."_

"_It's true!" I insist. _

"_Human blood isn't bad. It's normal. Demon blood is bad."_

_I frown. "Are you sure?"_

"_Of course I am. If you had demon blood, you wouldn't ask me if I was okay. You sure would not have put the King back." He points at the board. "See? You're good. Good enough to not cheat this time."_

_I smile, despite myself. Only Zeb could turn my cheating into a life lesson, then make me feel bad about it. No one else could make me regret this sort of stuff. "Okay. You can be black this time."_

"_Nah. White's my color. Like my wings." _

_I glance down at our pieces, at his small hands holding the white King. And mine, holding the black Queen._

* * *

I half-expect to wake up inside an infirmary, or possibly someplace in hell. But when I open my eyes, I recognize the scent of Amatis's house and the walls of one of the spare bedrooms.

I hear singing – soft singing. I turn my head and see Jocelyn, at Clary's side, dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans, hair in a bun with a pencil stuck through. A sudden wave of homesickness washes over me at the sight; I miss my own mother. I haven't seen her in months. Nor my father. The feeling leaves me pinned in place for a moment, eyes watering.

Then Jocelyn sees me, and rushes to my side. "Artemis –"

I clear my throat, forcing myself to sit up. "I'm fine. You can go back to Clary."

Her eyes soften. "I've been by both your sides all night, sweetheart. I considered trying to contact your parents to tell what had happened, but of course I had no way to do that."

"Good," I mumble. Heaven forbid either of them find out about this. I've barely even told them about Sebastian, but by how word is spreading, they probably already know. I shudder at the idea of them confronting him. Lilith or not, he wouldn't stand a chance against fatherly wrath.

My eyes fall on Clary, who lies motionless on the adjacent bed. That's when the first half of Jocelyn's words dawn on me. "What happened to her?" I whisper, fearing the answer.

Jocelyn takes my hand, which I didn't even realize was shaking. "After you saved Zachariah, Clary created a rune to save Jace." From her tone, I can tell she isn't all too pleased by that fact.

_Does that mean all three of us got taken back out unconscious? After we snuck in? That's embarrassing. _"Where's Jace? And Zachariah?"

"They're in the Basilias now. Recovering."

I let out a sigh of relief. "I need to see them."

"Tomorrow." Her motherly tone makes me hesitate. "You need to rest."

"I need to make sure they're okay. In person. If they're still injured, I have to help them –"

"You helped enough." Her voice is stern. "You are in no shape to help or save anybody anyway. You nearly killed yourself, trying to contain the fire. You aren't immortal, Artemis. You're still part human –"

"I had to," I interrupt. "I had to save him. He was going to die." I can't watch anymore of my friends die.

"_You_ shouldn't have had to!" she says angrily. "What were you doing at that battle?"

It's unnerving, getting motherly scolding from someone who isn't your mother. But lately, I've been around Jocelyn more than my own mom. I guess she sort of unofficially adopted me for the time being. "They weren't sending enough people," I say quietly. "They didn't know – they didn't understand that the Endarkened were gone. That they couldn't be saved. They thought . . ." I trail off, unable to say more. How many died because of the Clave's foolishness? Because of hope?

"Did you see my sister?"

I didn't even notice Luke in the corner, beside Clary's bed. He looks as if he's been through hell. Dark circles under his eyes, curly hair a mess, and glasses slightly askew.

I swallow. "I'm sorry. She's – she's Sebastian's lieutenant. She isn't . . . she isn't Amatis anymore."

"Did she hurt you? Hurt Clary?" His voice is calm, but his jaw is tight.

I'll be damned if I don't lie about this. I shake my head, remembering that moment when I thought I would have to kill her. I open my mouth to confirm it, but my voice comes out dry. I frown.

"It's all right," Luke says, misunderstanding my distress. "The Amatis serving Sebastian is no more my sister than the Jace who served Sebastian. No more my sister than the son Jocelyn ought to have had."

_No more his sister than the boy who burned down the Praetor. Than the boy I couldn't save. _

My vision blurs, and I feel Jocelyn's hand tighten around mine in a comforting squeeze. "I understand, sweetheart. Seeing him and not seeing what you prayed would be there."

_He was never your boy! _I want to scream. _But he was once mine! He was my boyfriend, my other half! And he still is, by the Angel, I'm still his. And you think I'm over him. You think I've recovered. You think I've healed, but I'm just as torn up about him as I was when I left him. It's how my kind was born to love – eternally, and irrevocably._

I smile sadly. "I know."

"God, the Clave – if only they would _listen._" She blows out a frustrated breath. "I understand why you went out last night, but I thought you were here. Safe. When Helen showed up with the both of you, spent and unconscious, I nearly had a heart attack! You were empty of all color, Arta. You were pale as a ghost. If it hadn't been for Magnus –"

"Magnus?" I didn't know he was in Alincante. I hadn't heard from him since the breakup.

"This isn't about Magnus. This is about the both of you. Jia's been beside herself, thinking she let you through, that she almost let you get killed."

Good.

"It was a call for experienced Shadowhunters, not children –"

"It was Sebastian," I say. "They don't understand him. How he works. They proved that last night."

"Sebastian isn't your responsibility anymore. I know you blame yourself for what he's doing, but I wish you'd understand that it's his fault, not yours." She closes her eyes. "Speaking of which, is this yours? It was in your weapon's belt when they brought you home."

In her hands is Heosphoros. I hesitate, but reach out and take it. "Yes. Thank you."

"It's a Morgenstern sword, Artemis." She regards it like a piece of smelly garbage sitting in my lap. "I sold it years ago. Where did you get it?" Her eyes flicker. "Did Sebastian give it to you?"

"I got it from the weapon's shop." I consider throwing Clary under the bus, but decide I can take the fall for once. "I figured . . . I figured I should have it." The Morgenstern ring feels heavy on my finger. "Poetic justice, I guess. Kill Sebastian with the child of his blade."

Jocelyn's expression changes. I can't read it. It's a mix of dark disdain, probably from having the words "child" and "Sebastian" put in the same sentence. Along with so many other things: sadness. Anger. Protectiveness. "Don't think you have to be the one to do it, Artemis. The blade shouldn't be in the hand of someone who will hesitate."

Her words cut hard, but I know they aren't meant as an insult. It seems everyone understands that if it comes down to it, I won't be able to kill Sebastian. But I like to pretend I can. If anything, it'll restore their faith in me. "We'll see."

I manifest the sheath for the blade and slide it in. I push myself to my feet, pausing for a moment as I steady myself enough to change into a fresh green dress and comfortable shoes.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jocelyn asks.

"I have to see someone," I say, and teleport out of the house.

* * *

The whole can't-teleport-someplace-I-haven't-been-to-or-seen restriction really busts my balls, let me tell you.

I spend at least an hour teleporting from place to place in a fruitless effort to get to the Basilias based on Zachariah and Jace's scent. With the Spiritual Labyrinth, my mother gave me a vivid mental image of what it looked like. But I've never seen the Basilias, nor any areas surrounding it. Finally, I give up. I want to teleport someplace else, someplace far way where I can think and be alone, but I'm too scared. I don't want to leave, not when the situation is so tense. When another battle or siege could spring at any moment. What good are my powers if I'm not here to use them?

"Angels shouldn't be alone at night," says a voice. "Lest monsters be out and waiting."

By his scent, I can recognize him. But it isn't until I turn around and see the white flash of his teeth and his curly hair do I speak. "What do you want, Raph?"

"I told you not to call me that," he says disdainfully. "Angel child."

"And I told _you_ not to call me that either." I pause. "Is there a particular reason you're out and about in the middle of Alincante?"

"I was on my way to a dinner at Merliorn's when I saw you. I thought I'd say hello."

Something about Merliorn's name bothers me, but I can't remember why. I raise an eyebrow. "Lying is a sin."

"My existence is a sin." He flashes a grin. "But I figured you could use the comfort of an old lover in these . . . trying times."

Yeah, so I had a fling with Raphael. It didn't mean anything – just a bit of fun. And I have to admit, it _was _fun. "Sorry Raph. I'm considering giving abstinence a shot."

"Yes, and I plan on starting an animal-only diet next week."

I smile, despite myself. "Shame you don't unleash your wit with my friends. No one knows you have a sense of humor."

"On that topic," His eyes flash. "two of your friends came by my home just a few minutes ago. The Daylighter and Valentine's daughter."

I frown. "I didn't even know Simon was here." Who else is in town? "What did they want?"

"The boy thought it smart to go a few days without blood." Raphael rolls his eyes. "I gave him some, and sent him on his way."

I tilt my head. There's something about his tone . . . "Raph, you didn't . . . spike his bottle, did you?"

His eyes glint with mischief, and I see a hint of that charm that enticed me into his bed. To bad it doesn't do anything for me now, or I'd be tempted to do something reckless to soothe my aches.

"Shit," I groan. "Do you know where he went?"

"You could come back to my house and we could retrace his steps."

"Maybe another time, vampire." I blow him a kiss to accent the promise that will never happen, and go on my way.

I find Simon and Clary a little while later. It wasn't hard – I followed the sound of drunken yelling.

"What the hell is he doing?" I ask Clary. Helen and Aline stand near her, off to the side. Probably woke up from the shouting.

"Embarrassing himself," she mutters.

"Our love is forbidden!" he cries up to Isabelle's open window. "Like the love of a shark and a – and a shark hunter! But that's what makes it special."

"Oh?" Isabelle snaps. "Which one of us is the hunter, Simon?"

_Obviously not Simon._

Right about then, the front door bursts open. It's Robert Lightwood, and he does not look too pleased to see us. He doesn't even look at me – he kicks the gates open and strides straight up to Simon. "What's going on here?" His eyes flicker to Clary. "Why are you shouting outside my house?"

"He's not feeling well," Clary says, grabbing Simon's wrist. "We're going."

"No," Simon says. "I need to talk to him. To the Inquisitor."

I glance at the sparks flickering off my fingertips, mentally calculating how much voltage it'll take to put out a vampire without frying his brain cells. I don't think Simon would be too psyched if I put him into a permanent vegetative state.

Robert reaches into his jacket and withdraws a crucifix. He holds it out between himself and Simon. "I only speak to the Night Children Council representative, or to the head of the New York clan," he says. "Not to any vampire who comes to knock at my door, even if he is a friend of my children. Nor should you be in Alincante without permission –"

Simon reaches out and plucks the cross out Robert's hand. "Wrong religion."

"Oh shit," I whisper under my breath.

"I was sent by the representative of the Night Children to the Council. Raphael Santiago brought me here to speak to you –"

"Simon!" Isabelle hurries out the house, racing to place herself between the vampire and the mountain. "What are you doing?"

Clary grabs Simon's wrist again. "We_ really_ need to go."

Robert's gaze dances between Simon and Isabelle. His expression changes, and I momentarily hope he doesn't have a stake or something inside his jacket as well. "Is there something going on between you two? Is that what all the yelling was about?"

Clary looks surprised. Isabelle already told me she hadn't told her dad about her and Simon. It isn't hard to see why.

"He's a friend," Isabelle says, and I wince for Simon. "He's friends with all of us. I'll vouch for him, if that means he can stay in Alincante. But he's going back to Clary's now." She glares at Simon. "Aren't you, Simon?"

"My head feels round," Simon says sadly. "So round."

Robert lowers his arm. "_What?_"

"He drank some drugged blood," I say, rubbing my temples, forgetting to put the sparks out. My hair frizzes as a result.

Robert turns his gaze to Simon. "I'll talk to you tomorrow at the Council meeting. _If _you've sobered up by then. If Raphael has something he wants to speak to me about, he can say it in front of the Clave."

"I don't –" Simon starts.

"We'll bring him," I promise. "Sober and everything."

Robert makes a grunt and stalks back into his house. Isabelle hesitates.

"Where did he get the spiked blood?" she asks.

"Raphael," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "He'll be all right tomorrow. Put him to bed." She waves to Helen and Aline, who lean on the gateposts with blatant curiosity. "See you tomorrow."

"Isabelle –" Simon begins, but before he can do anything else embarrassing, I grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him back down the street, Clary on his heels.

I let her handle drunk Simon, since he kept trying to veer off down various alleyways and insisted, at some point, on breaking into a closed candy shop. It's dark by the time the three of us get back to Amatis's house. I open the door, and Clary shoves him inside.

"Goodnight," I whisper to Simon before heading up the stairs. Clary follows me shortly after, but both of us are too tired to really speak to each other. She goes to her room, and I go to mine. I use a low glow in my palm to illuminate my way.

The windows along the upstairs corridor are open, letting in a cool breeze. The smell of city stone and canal water ride on it, gently blowing my hair away from my face. I hum softly to myself, a song that stuck to my head earlier. I push open the door – and freeze.

The light glows brighter, casting bright spokes off white across the room. There's someone sitting on my bed. A tall someone, with snow-white hair, eyes black as night, with a sword across his lap. His silver bracelet sparks like fire in the light.

"Hello, lover mine," Sebastian says.

* * *

It's a strange feeling, when your heart pounds so loudly it's all you can hear.

I remember a time when my father first trained me to fight a demon on my own. When he stepped aside and let the beast come at me, a mass of sleek black and white talons. I had hesitated, not because I was scared but because I wanted to see if he would help me if I did. And he didn't. He didn't so much as blink, and that terrified me. He later told me he had control of the demon the entire time, but that fear always stuck with me.

It's the same fear I feel now. That heart-pounding moment as you wait for a loved one's decision.

I make mine first.

I spin on my heel to run out the open door – only to find it banging shut in my face. An invisible force takes me by the shoulder and spins me around, slamming me into the wall. When my head hits the wood, pain throbs through my skull. I blink away tears and keep still.

"My apologies for the roughness," he says, a light mocking tone to his voice. He lays against the pillows, resting his arms behind his head. His sleeves hug the swell of his biceps. His shirt rides up, baring a strip of his stomach. "It took me a little while to set up, considering your power, but you know how it is. Can't take risks with you, my Angel."

"Sebastian." By some miracle, my voice doesn't tremble. "What are you doing here?"

His face is thoughtful. The moonlight spilling from the window casts shadows under his sharp cheekbones. Sharper than usual. I can't help but be concerned – he hasn't been eating right. He's skinnier than before, lost some of his muscle.

"Because I've missed you," he says. "Have you missed me?"

_Yes, you idiot! _"No."

He traces a lazy pattern in the air with his fingers. "Liar."

"So are you." I force myself to get it out. "You didn't come here because you missed me. What do you want?" _Clary? Jace?_

Suddenly, he's on his feet. Graceful – almost too fast for me to catch the movement. His hair is longer, and the white streaks fall over his eyes. Eyes hungry with black fire, which I can't help but react to. My mind knows that gaze, and what follows when he approaches me with it.

"Maybe I want to broker a truce," he says.

"The Clave won't broker a truce with you."

"Really?" he smiles. "After last night?" He takes a step towards me. The realization that I can't run away doesn't amount to the realization that I wouldn't run away if I could. "I saw you there, Angel. I saw the way you fought, like a warrior. I regretted that you were wasting your energy on their side." He brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His hand skims down my neck, over my collarbones. He notes my goose bumps with a smile. "But maybe I'm not interested in a truce with them. Maybe I'm only interested in a truce with you."

"Why?" I breathe. "You know I won't join you. You know I've picked my side."

"Have you?" Suddenly he's pressed up against me, fingers wrapped around my left wrist, pinning it over my head. His index finger traces over the Morgenstern ring. "Is that why you carry my family ring with you, all this time? Why you wear my family blade?" His free hand moves alongside my hip, groping, grabbing, until his hand rests on Heosphoros's hilt. "I told you about this blade," he whispers. "I told you how it would have been perfect in your hands. And it is."

"It isn't mine," I whisper.

"It is now." He kisses my forehead. His lips are cold. "My blade yearns for it's sister," he says.

"The way you yearn for yours?" I sneer quietly. "Clary told me. She told me what you did to her in the apartment."

He shakes his head. "I yearn for my angel."

"I'm not your angel." I tilt my chin.

He smiles. "Aren't you?"

I don't even see him kiss me – I just see a rush of shadow, then a flood of heat. He kisses me the same way he did during stormy nights, when I clung to him close and we'd kiss, knowing we had all the time in the world to do whatever we wanted. His hands are firm on my hips, holding me still against him. He kisses me like he needs me to breathe, like he's starving and I'm ambrosia.

"Push me away, Angel," he rasps against my lips. His hands glide down my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist. He pushes me back against the wall, lining the bulge in his pants against the center of me. "If you aren't mine, then tell me. Push me away."

He rolls his hips against me once, twice, and I gasp.

_No! Snap out of it!_

I realize my arms are wrapped tightly around his shoulders. I grip them and push hard against his body. I manage to wedge a space between us, then wriggle myself out of his grip. He let's me drop to the ground, but doesn't take his arms off me.

"Are you their angel, then?" he teases, letting his hand run up my side. "Their sullied symbol? Would they worship you so if they know how many times I've loved your body? How many times you've gotten on your knees for me?" He laughs. "Those pretty words you spill, tainted by my –"

I snarl and shove him away, hard enough to throw him across the room. But Sebastian is stronger than he was before, and I can only push him back. He lunges forward immediately, pinning my arms on either side of my head. "The angel Artemis," he purrs. "Who loved the demon Sebastian." He brings his lips to my ear. "You're mine, Angel. You'll always be mine. And I fight to protect what belongs to me. Now and forever."

I shut my eyes and turn away, but his voice is penetrating. It's all I can hear. "Look at me, Angel."

And I do. What choice do I have? I can't fight him.

"Lucifer Morningstar was Heaven's most beautiful angel," he says softly. "God's proudest creation. And then came the day when Lucifer refused to bow to mankind. To humans. Because he knew they were lesser. And for that, he was cast down into the pit, along with the angels who followed him: Azazael, Barbatos, Asmodeus, and Leviathan. Lilith. My mother."

"She's not your mother," I hiss.

"You're right. She's more than my mother. If she were my mother, I'd be a warlock. Instead I was fed on her blood before I was born. I am something very different from a warlock; something better." He pauses. "She was an angel once, Lilith."

I clench my teeth, and the breath that comes out is hard and ragged. "What's your point? That I'm capable of becoming what she is?"

His eyes shine, as if the idea delights him. "Greater Demons are not so different from angels," he says. "We are not so different, you and I. I told you before."

"I remember," I say. "You said I had ruthlessness in my bones and ice in my heart."

"Don't you?" His hand strokes down through my hair, to my shoulder, to my chest, resting just over my heart. I can feel it slam against my skin, beneath his palm, as if yearning to jump into his grip. "My mother cheated me. She denied me and she hated me. I was a _child_ and she hated me. As did my father." His smile is like a razor slice. "I did everything he ever asked of me, and he hated me for it. Because I was exactly what he created me to be."

"Maybe they did," I say. "But I loved you. And . . . and I couldn't save you." My eyes start watering, and I hate myself for it. But I can't stop it now. "You weren't always this bad. I should have stayed with you. I should have taken your deal." It isn't my fault, what he's doing, and it wasn't my fault for saying no, but I know 'yes' would have been for the best. For _his _best. Watching my Sebastian drain bit by bit from the boy in front of me – it's one of the worse punishments I could have asked for.

"Yes," he whispers. His hand moves from my heart to my cheek, wiping a tear. "You should have. It would have been easier for both of us that way. You can still come now, Angel. That's why I'm here."

"To take me back?" I recoil in his arms, despite myself. I don't want to go with him. I don't know what I'll do if the two of us are completely alone.

"Yes."

"I can't . . . you aren't on the right side, Sebastian."

He touches my cheek. "That's for you to decide. We are so much lovelier when we fall, Angel."

I pause at that. The old Sebastian loved the fact that I was mostly angel. He never wanted me to change. He said my goodness kept him good (despite my sincere lack of it). Wanting me to fall . . . cherishing the idea of seeing me as dark as Lilith . . .

He's gone.

A sob racks through me before I can push it down. His brows knit in concern, and he pulls me into his arms, hugging me close. I wrap my arms around him, desperate to prove myself wrong. He smells the way he always did, just a little darker. He touches me the same way, just a little rougher. He loves me as he did before, but with a poisoned heart.

"You'll change me," I whisper into his shoulder. "You'll try to make me demon-blooded –"

"No," he says, a strange urgency in his tone. "I won't change you if you don't want it. I will forgive you, and my siblings as well. We can be together, all four of us. Like before."

My fists clench against his back. There will never be a 'like before'. Not because of me. I understand that now. It was his demon blood that made him yearn for power. It was Lilith's blood that made him rebuke me. And it's her blood that he keeps taking, even though he knows it'll only make him worse. For power.

I draw back, forcing him step away. It puts a few inches between us, enough breathing space for me to think. "You love ultimatums," I say coldly. "What happens if I turn down your offer?"

His expression hardens. "If you refuse me now, I will Turn everyone you love to Endarkened Ones, and then Turn you last, that you might be forced to watch them change when you can still feel the pain of it. And you _can _be changed, Angel. My Mother will see it happen."

"That's your mercy?" I smile bitterly. "Tell me why you picked him."

He looks confused. "Who?"

"Zeb. The angel who's wings you cut off and left to die. Why did you pick him? You could have taken any other angel." Anyone but him. Sweet, kind Zebediah.

Taken aback, he hesitates to answer. "Why does it matter?"

"Because," I say, stepping towards him. "Zeb was pure. Zeb was the kindest creature I've ever met in my life. He was my friend, and you killed him. The boy I loved wouldn't have hurt him. You aren't that boy."

"Loved?" he steps forward, and his expression changes. Anger? Panic? "Do you not love me, Angel?"

"You keep asking me. You know the answer. But what about you?" I see Zeb's smiling face, his cherry smile. "Join you or watch my friends die? Wouldn't you give a better deal to a past bedmate? Assuming that's all I am to you now."

For a moment, something flickers in his eyes. A trace of color in those black depths, and it stuns me. "You are everything to me," he whispers.

"Then prove it." I square my shoulders. "You know Lilith's blood is poisoning you. You know it's making you cold and cruel and evil. I can't love you when you're like that."

"But you're mine," he says. "I want you to – I need you to –" He takes a gasping breath; his pupils are blown wide, and something about it hurts me more than anything else he has done before. He needs help. He needs me.

"Come with me," I say softly. "I'll heal you. I'll find a way."

He steps back – stumbles back, almost – and I hold out my hand. _Please, please, please take it. I want to help you, baby. I want to more than anything. But you have to show me that you're still in there. I told you once I can't bring back the dead._

Sebastian's eyes flicker again, black fire rolling, and stretches out his hand. His cold fingers touch mine.

"Get away from her," says a clear voice from the door. "Get away from her, or I will incinerate you where you stand."

Over his shoulder I see Jace, in front of the window, curtains blowing behind him in the breeze of the canal. His eyes are hard as agate stones. He's wearing gear, his blade in his hand, still with the shadow of fading bruises on his jaw and neck. His expression as he looks at Sebastian is that of absolute hatred.

_Clary, _I realize when I wonder what he's doing here. _He thought this was Clary's room._

Sebastian's hand freezes on mine, and withdraws as fast as it was laid. Before I can do anything, Heosphoros is gone from its sheath and beneath his foot. His hand flies to his belt, smile like a razor slice. But his eyes are wary. "Go ahead and try it," he says. "You got lucky at the Citadel. I wasn't expecting you to burn when I cut you. My mistake. I won't make it twice."

Jace's eyes flit to me.

_I'm alright, _I promise him mentally.

"So you admit it," Jace says, circling a little closer to us. "The heavenly fire surprised you. Threw you off your game. That's why you ran away. You lost the battle at the Citadel, and you don't like to lose."

I consider manifesting Jace a weapon so he can attack Sebastian, but some part of me can't betray him that way. Besides, it would be useless. Sebastian can't be killed by normal weapons anymore.

"I didn't get what I came for. But I did learn quite a bit."

"You didn't break the walls of the Citadel," I say. "You didn't get into the armory. You didn't Turn the Sisters."

He glances back at me, and my blood chills at his smile. It grows a little brighter, a little brittler. "I didn't go to the Citadel for arms and armor." He turns back to Jace. "I came for you. The three of you."

Almost as if on cue, I hear footsteps outside the door. Only, it's Clary's scent.

_STOP! _I shout at her, and I hear her halt in the hallway.

_What's wrong, Arta? _Her tone is cautious, worried.

_Touch the door._

The moment she does, I press my fingertips against it, and show her the scene through my eyes. She stays there, unmoving.

"You couldn't have known we'd be there. You're lying," Jace says, eyes narrowed.

"I'm not." He's practically radiating, like a torch burning. "I can see you, little brother. I can see everything that happens in Alincante. In the day and in the night, in darkness and in light, _I can see you._"

Shivers run down my spine. _Get the guards._

Clary steps away from the door. I hear her footsteps retreating.

"You're lying," I say to him. "You can't possibly have a way to see us at all times."

"Oh? Then how did I know you would be _here_? Alone, tonight?"

Jace continues forward, prowling towards us. His movements are smooth, like a cat on the hunt. "How didn't you know that I would be here, too?"

He makes a face. "Hard to watch two people at once. So many irons in the fire . . ."

"And if you wanted Arta, why not just take her?" he demands.

_Please don't give him any ideas._

"Why spend all this time talking?" he continues, voice dripping with contempt. "You want her to _want _to go with you," he says. "No one in your life has done anything but despise you. Your mother. Your father. Your sister. And now your lover. Arta loved you with everything, and you made her hate you. That wasn't what you wanted. You forget we were bonded, you and I. You forget I've seen your dreams. Somewhere inside that head of yours, there is a world of flames, and there is you looking down at it from a throne room, and in that room are two thrones. So who occupies that second throne? Who sits beside you in your dreams?"

Sebastian gives a gasping laugh; there are red spots on his cheeks, like fever. "You are making a mistake," he says. "talking to me like this, angel boy."

"Even in your dreams you are not companionless," Jace says, his voice eerily calm for such words. Like a narrator speaking to one of his characters. "But who could you find who would understand you? You don't understand love; our father taught you too well. But you were loved once, if briefly, and you want it again. You crave it. If you could have Artemis beside you, watching the world burn, it would be all the approval you ever needed."

"I never desired approval," he says through gritted teeth. "Yours, hers, or anyone's."

"Really?" Jace smiles as Sebastian's voice rises. "Then why have you given us so many second chances?" He stops prowling and stands opposite to us, his pale golden eyes shining in the dim light. Glowing bright against the shadows the way Sebastian's melt with them. "You said it yourself. You stabbed me. You went for my shoulder. You could have gone for the heart, but you were holding back. For what? Me? Or because some part of you knew that Arta would never forgive you if you killed any more of her friends?"

"Angel, do you wish to speak for yourself on this matter?" says Sebastian, though he doesn't look at me; his eyes are on Jace's blade. "Or do you require him to give answers for you?"

Both their gazes cut to me. I feel the weight of both of them, black and gold.

"I won't come with you, Sebastian," I say. "I told you my offer. I can help you. Just stop this. Please." I step towards him, taking him in. He turns to me. His jaw is set tight, eyes black and emotionless, yet still filled to the brim with everything he's feeling. I touch his cheek. "Please, please stop hurting people. Come back to me, Sebastian. Leave Lilith behind."

He cups my cheek, brushing his thumb against my cheekbone. I see Jace move behind him, and I glare at him sharply. He stops moving.

It's almost as if breaking eye contact broke my brief hold over him. Sebastian's hand drops from my face, into a fist at his side. "There's no leaving Lilith behind," he says coldly. "There's no coming back to you. You'll come to me. That was what I wanted. You'll mount the throne beside me of your own accord, when the end comes to the end."

"No." I drop my hand and step away. "I won't."

Sebastian looks as if he's going to say something more, but a loud crash from downstairs cuts him off. The house suddenly fills with voices.

"Clary," Jace smirks.

Sebastian's expression tightens, so momentarily that most people wouldn't have noticed it. He reaches for me, lips shaping words – to spell me? To free me? Jace leaps at him, his blade driving down in a tight arc –

Sebastian spins away, but the blade catches him still: It draws a line of blood on his arm. He cries out, staggering back – and pauses. He grins as Jace stares at him, white-faced, at my side.

"The heavenly fire," Sebastian says. "You don't know how to control it yet. Works sometimes and not other times, eh little brother?"

His eyes blaze up in gold. "We'll see about that," he snarls, and lunges for Sebastian, sword slicing through the darkness with light.

But Sebastian is too quick for him. He strides forward and plucks the sword out of Jace's hand. Before I can move – before Jace himself can even blink, Sebastian swings the sword and plunges it into his own chest.

I scream.

The tip sinks in, parting his shirt, then his skin. He bleeds red, human blood, as dark as rubies. He's clearly in pain: his teeth bared in a rictus grin, his breath coming unevenly, but the sword keeps moving, his hand steady. The back of his shirt bulges and tears as the tip of the sword breaks through on a gout of blood.

Time seems to stretch too long for me to handle. The hilt slams against Sebastian's chest, the blade protruding from his back, dripping scarlet. I stand there, frozen, as he strides forward, takes my face in his bloody hands, and kisses me. Sweet, hard, comforting. I taste darkness and metal, salt and sweet.

"I'm glad you still worry for me, Angel," he breathes against my lips.

And then he's gone, reaching for Jace with the same bloodied hands. All trace of tenderness he used with me are gone, replaced with madness. Over the sound of feet pounding up the stairs, Sebastian speaks:

"I can feel the fire of Heaven in your veins, angel-boy. It burns under your skin. The pure force of the destruction of ultimate goodness." He grins wolfishly. "I can still hear your screams on the air when Clary plunged the blade into you. Did you burn and burn?" His voice is breathless and darkened with poisonous intensity. "You think you have a weapon you can use against me now, don't you? Maybe, in a century, you might be able to master the fire. But time is exactly what you don't have."

Sebastian raises a hand and cups the back of Jace's neck, pulling him closer, so close their foreheads almost touch.

"Arta is your most powerful ally. She and I are alike. We have all the time we could ever wish for. And one day, she will chose me over the rest of you, I promise you that. And you will be there to see it. See her, in her heavenly blaze, burn you out like a pyre." In a swift darting motion, he kisses Jace on the cheek, fast and hard. When he draws back, there's a smear of blood on his skin. I touch my own lips, watching red come off on my fingertips. "_Ave, _Master Herondale," he says, and twists the silver ring on his finger – there is a shimmer, and he vanishes.

There's a pause. Jace stares, wordlessly, at the place where Sebastian had been, then looks up at me. He starts towards me just as my legs collapse. I hit the ground on my knees and fall back, legs tucked against my chest. My eyes start to blur.

"Arta," Jace says softly. He's there, on his knees beside me, one arm around my shoulders. Comfortingly, to my surprise. Jace hasn't shown much affection towards me. I wasn't even sure if he considered me a friend anymore.

I wipe my tears, feeling my eyes blur more when I see my lover's blood smeared on my palms.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Can angels get diabetes?

I mull this over as I scoop what must be my eighth spoonful of sugar into my coffee. I swirl it briefly. The motivation to stir and thoroughly mix my drink hasn't seemed to find its way to me. Not when my body is this numb. I drop the spoon and it vanishes in the air. I seal the air bag with my sugar deposit and turn back to Jace and Clary. They're already chatting quietly, and glance up when they see me looking at them.

"How are you two?" I ask softly, manifesting a chair for myself across from them.

"Fine," Clary answers for them both. "What about you?"

My fingers tire, and I drop the cup. The coffee splashes over my lap, but I just snap my fingers and my sweatpants are replaced with a clean pair. The cup rolls on the carpet, dragging a stream of brown with it. I dissolve the cup and clear the carpet as well. All of this is done in silence.

"Why did he kiss you?" I ask Jace, staring at my palms. I've scrubbed them raw, but now that I have, the blood has rushed to the skin, making it look red. The way it was when his blood coated my palms. I can still taste it on my lips, from when he kissed me.

"It was a sort of quote," he says. "From the Bible. When Judas kissed Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. It was a sign of his betrayal. He kissed him and said 'Hail, master' to him, and that was how the Romans knew who to arrest and crucify."

I don't know who's more pretentious – Sebastian for doing it, or Jace for understanding it.

"That's was why he said '_Ave, _master' to you," Clary says, realizing. "'Hail master.'"

"He meant he planned to be the instrument of my destruction. Clary, I –"

He breaks off, and runs a hand through his gold hair. I know he wants to say something, something that will probably expose that weak side he's so determined to keep out of public view. I figure if anyone should vent for now, it should be him. So I get up, ignore their calls, and walk out the room.

Straight into Simon.

"Hey you," he says when I jump.

I flatten my palm over my racing heart. "Jesus, Simon. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Thank you. I try."

I give him a look and lean against the wall. "What are you doing here? I didn't think the Gard held many fond memories for you."

He makes a face. "Considering getting locked up here and being starved is what scored me my Daylighter title –"

"Cause you nibbled on Jace's neck," I smile. "Wish I could've been there."

"I've been told by a lot of people that the idea of me and Jace together is hot. I personally don't see it."

"They never do," I sigh. "So why are you here, anyway?"

All sense of light drops from his expression, replaced by something dreary. "I heard what happened. I came to check up on you."

"Clary's fine," I say. "She and Jace are having a moment, though, so I wouldn't check up on them now. They could be sexing it up in there."

"Arta," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, and the sun sets in the east." He sits down cross-legged on the floor. After a moment, I sit across from him and stretch my legs out. "Tell me the truth. Just vent. Let it all out."

And I do.

By sobbing.

"Shit," he mutters, and crawls over, pulling me into his arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset."

"It's ok-kay," I sniffle through my gross crying. "I just – I –" I cry harder, probably ruining the mood for the lovebirds in the room beside us. Though if they can hear me, they give no indication.

"I get it. I get it." After awhile, once my crying has settle to occasional sniffling and heaving, he pulls a tissue from his pocket. I accept it gratefully and use it.

"Thanks," I say, shoving the wet nasty thing in my pocket. "I hate telling this sort of thing to Jace and Clary. They've had it the worst with Sebastian, you know? They hate him the most."

"No offense, but I'm pretty sure everyone at this point hates your boyfriend."

"Except me," I say miserably. "He's dead in there, eaten up by Lilith's poison, and I still can't let him go."

He shifts me so my elbow isn't digging into his stomach. "That isn't really your fault. You said angel kids fall in love forever, and once you're hitched, you're hitched for life."

"How are you so understanding about this?" I look up at him. Since his transformation, Simon has been all angles and paleness. He still doesn't realize how handsome he is. Why couldn't I have fallen for him instead?

_Because he isn't your type, and Isabelle would slice your ass into pieces with her whip._

"Because I understand getting crap for something you couldn't control." He pauses. "Though you could have just not gone with Clary to the apartment."

"Yeah, and you could have just not gotten turned into a rat."

He grins then. "I guess we're both idiots, aren't we?"

I wipe my eyes. "I guess so."

Around then is when Jia shows up. She almost passes us completely, but sees us at the last second and stops. We both scramble to our feet. Her mild panic makes me raise an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, Consul?"

"The Council meeting has begun," she says, but I know that's not it. Jia is pretty like her daughter, Aline, but at the moment there are sharp lines of tension at the corners of her mouth and eyes. I know that look.

"What's happened, Jia?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Luke and Jocelyn are missing," she says. "Along with the rest of the Downworlder representatives. And we have a good idea who's responsible."

* * *

Simon, Jace, Clary, and I stand in the amphitheater at the center of the Council room. The sound of arguing and shouting blends into a constant buzz that I can't seem to hear. I vaguely note the Lightwoods, Aline, Helen, and the massive pack of Blackthorn children. But my attention is snared by something else.

The four seats of the Downworlders, set in around the lecterns in a half-circle, are empty. Splashed across the floorboards in front of them is a single word, scrawled in a crooked hand, in what looks like sticky gold paint.

_Veni._

"Ichor," I murmur. My shoulders are tight as the word settles. "Angel blood. He wrote it in angel blood."

_Erchomai, _he had written in the library at the Institution. _I am coming._

And now _Veni. _

_I have come._

It was stupid of me to think that he had come only for me. That this hadn't been part of something larger, that he hadn't wanted more. More destruction. More terror, more upheaval. Sebastian isn't theatrical – the effects he desires to convey come naturally. He can be terrifying without putting forth any effort. He's always been that way. And in a sense, it's strangely comforting. Seeing him, in a simple word, that strikes such fear. As he has always been able to do.

"Brother Zachariah," Clary says to Jace, snapping me out of my stupor. "I never got a chance to ask you if you knew whether he was all right?"

Jace stares at the writing on the dais, a sick look on his face. "I saw him in the Basilias. He's all right. He's – different."

I frown, suddenly worried what my magic could have done. "Good different?"

"Human different," he says. Before I can ask him what he means, someone calls my name.

Down the center of the room, I see a hand rise out of the crowd, waving to me frantically. Isabelle. She's standing with Alec, a little distance from their parents. I hear Jia call out after me, but I'm already pushing my way to her. I can hear the others following close on my heels. I can practically feel the curious stares cast in our direction. Everyone knows who I am, after all. Knows who we all are. Sebastian's angel, Valentine's adopted son, Valentine's daughter, and the Daylighter.

"Arta!" Isabelle calls. The four of us fall free of the onlookers and almost crash into the Lightwood siblings, who manage to clear a small space for themselves in the middle of the crowd. Isabelle shoots an irritated glance at Simon before reaching to hug the rest of us. As soon as she releases Jace, Alec pulls him over by the sleeve and hangs onto him, his knuckles whitening around the fabric. Jace looks surprised, but says nothing. That's when I realize what the Lightwood boy must be feeling – Magus is missing, like the rest of the Downworlder representatives.

"Is it true?" Isabelle says to me. "Sebastian was in your room last night?"

I blink. "At Amatis's, yes – how did you know?"

"Our father's the Inquisitor; of course we know," Alec says. "Rumors about Sebastian being in the city were all everyone was talking about before they opened up the Council room and we saw – this."

"It's true," Simon agrees. "The Consul asked me about it when she woke me up – like I'd know anything. I slept through it," he adds as Isabelle shoots him an inquiring look.

"Did the Consul say anything about _this_?" Alec demands, sweeping his arm toward the scene below. "Did Sebastian?"

It takes me a moment to realize he's talking to me. "No," I say. "He didn't exactly sneak into my room to discuss battle plans."

The implication of what didn't happen hangs in the air, and for a moment I see an expression of shock in Isabelle and Alec's eyes. Isabelle touches my sleeve. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I say, stifling the urge to push her hand away. "He didn't touch me."

I see Jace's lips part, to call me out on the lie, but he stops himself in time. No one catches the movement.

"He shouldn't have been able to get to the Downworld representatives. Not only is Alincante guarded, but each of their safe houses are warded," Alec says. His heartbeat rises so quickly it surprises me. His hand loosens on Jace's sleeve, shaking with a fine tremor. "They were at dinner. They should have been _safe._" He shoves his hands in his pockets. "And Magnus – Magnus wasn't even supposed to be here. Catarina was coming instead of him." He looks at Simon. "I saw you with him in Angel Square on the night of the battle. Did he say why he was here?"

_Lie, _I hiss to Simon. I have an idea why Magnus would have come, and it's a reason Alec doesn't need to hear right now.

Simon shakes his head. "He just shooed me away. He was healing Clary."

"Maybe this is a bluff," Alec says. "Maybe Sebastian is trying to make us think he's done something to the Downworld representatives to throw us off –"

"We don't know that he's done anything to them," I say quietly. "But they're still missing."

Alec turns away, as if he can't bear to look at us. As the others continue their conversation, I put a hand on his shoulder, calming him the best I can without changing his mood completely. "Magus is fine," I say softly.

He looks up at me. Well down, since I'm almost a whole head shorter than he is. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I know Sebastian. He wouldn't kidnap the Downworld reps and just slaughter them." Alec flinches, and I speak hastily. "He would keep them alive. He has a reason for taking them."

"What if he wanted to kill them? To show his power?" he says bitterly.

"If that's what he wanted, then we would have seen their bodies. They're alive. I promise."

He believes me – at least, he wants to. I can see it in his eyes, and some part of me feels better, now that I've relieved someone of their pain. He looks as if he's going to say something more, but Jia calls the meeting to attention, and the crowd hushes.

I feel Isabelle touch my hand, very deliberately. She wants to talk.

_What? _I ask.

_Thank you, _she says. _For telling Alec that. For making him feel better. _

_I wasn't lying, _I say immediately. _It's true. _

_Arta, you told me once that hostages more often than not are killed once the bad guy gets what they want._

_Then we just have to rescue them before then, _I snap, and severe the connection.

"You can't fight what you can't find," I hear Jia say. "Our attempts to track him continue to prove fruitless." She raises her voice. "Sebastian Morgenstern's best plan now is to lure us out in small numbers. He needs us to send out scouting parties to hunt demons, or to hunt him. We must stay together, here, in Idris, where he cannot confront us. If we split up, we leave our homeland, then we will lose."

"He'll wait us out," says a bond Shadowhunter from the Copenhagen Conclave.

"We have to believe he doesn't have the patience for that," she says, finally assuming something right about him. "We have to expect he will attack, and when he does, our superior numbers will defeat him," she finishes, assuming something completely wrong.

"There's more than patience considered," says a thin, dark haired Shadowhunter. Head of the Budapest Institute, I recognize. "We left our Institutes, we came here, with the understanding that we would be returning once we had held a Council with the Downworld representatives. Without us out in the world, who will protect it? We have a _mandate, _a mandate from Heaven, to protect the world, to hold back the demons. We cannot do that from Idris."

It's as if all Shadowhunters are born with a dramatic streak.

"All the wards are at full strength," Robert says. "Wrangel Island is working overtime. And given our new cooperation with Downworlders, we will have to rely on them to keep the Accords. That was part of what we were going to discuss at the Council today –"

"Well, good luck to you with that," says another woman. "considering that the representatives of Downworld are missing."

What could Sebastian want with the Downworlders? I think about them individually. He has no connection to Magnus. To Raphael. Luke was his father's Parabati . . . and Jocelyn was his mother. My throat tightens. What would Sebastian do to the mother he so hated, if he had her all to himself?

I don't think anything could have snapped me from my panic – except for one of Jia's guards yanking her back by the robes and placing the blade of a long, silver dagger at her throat.

"Nephilim!" he roars. I frown, squinting. I've seen his face before. He's tall, with brown hair, probably around forty. His arms are thickly muscled, the veins standing out like ropes as he struggles to hold Jia still. Head of an Institute, I realize. I just don't know which one.

"Nephilim," he roars again, and I start forward. A hand lashes out and clamps down on my wrist, stopping me in place. I'm surprised to see that it's Jace. As if to answer his silent gesture, the man adds, "Stay where you are! Do not approach, or your Consul dies!"

Aline screams. Helen has a hold of her, visibly restraining her from running forward.

"That's Matthias Gonzalas," Alec says, shocked. "He was head of the Buenos Aires Institute."

One of the first Institutes captured by Sebastian.

"Silence!" the man roars, and an uneasy silence falls. Most Shadowhunters, like Jace and Alec, have their hands halfway to their weapons. My palms heat as I try to decide whether to burn the man where he stands or electrocute him. Both options threaten to harm Jia. I could kill him several other ways, but I hold back. I want to hear what he has to say.

"Hear me, Shadowhunters!" Matthias cries, eyes burning. "Hear me, for I was one of you. Blindly following the rule of the Clave, convinced of my safety within the wards of Idris. But there is no safety here." He jerks his chin to the side, indicating the scrawl on the floor. "None are safe, not even Heaven's messengers. That is the reach of the power of the Infernal Cup, and of he who holds it."

_Not even Heaven's messengers. _Rage boils in me, and I see a familiar angel behind my closed eyelids as I struggle to calm myself down.

A murmur runs through the crowd. Robert Lightwood pushes forward, face anxious as he looks at Jia and the blade at her throat. "What does he want," he demands. "Valentine's son. What does he want from us?"

"Oh, he wants many things."

_Of course he does._

"But for now, he will content himself with the gift of his wife and siblings. Give him Artemis Morgenstern, Clarissa Morgenstern, and Jace Lightwood, and avert disaster."

Something in me feels thick and heavy at being referred to as a wife. As Artemis Morgenstern. I don't realize my hands are shaking until Clary glances back at me, then down at them. I can feel the gaze of the entire room on my back, and I feel as if I'm dissolving.

"We are Nephilim," Robert says coldly. "We do not trade away our own. He knows that."

"We of the Infernal Cup have in our possession five of your allies," is the reply. My stomach sinks when I realize what he's going to say next, and piece together the disaster set out for us. "Merliorn of the Fair Folk, Raphael Santiago of the Night's Children, Luke Garroway of the Moon's Children, Jocelyn Morgenstern of the Nephilim, and Magnus Bane of the Children of Lilith. If you do not give us who we ask for, they will be put to the deaths of iron and silver, of fire and rowan. And when your Downworld allies learn that you have sacrificed their representatives because you would not give up your own, they will turn on you. They will join with us, and you will find yourself fighting not just he who holds the Infernal Cup, but of all Downworld."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

A wave of dizziness hits me, so intense that it's almost sickness. I knew he would do something like this. I knew he would grow impatient of waiting for me to come to him. A plan like this is so much like him – either he got what he wanted most, or he would destroy it.

Except me. Some part of me knows, that no matter what, he will have me. He won't stop until he does.

Can I give myself to him? Can I do that, for the safety of everyone else?

I start forward, meaning to call out, but I'm jerked back, again, by a hand. I turn, expecting Jace, but to my surprise I see Simon. "Don't," he says. "It's not just you he wants."

"You are a fool and a follower," Kadir snaps, eyes angry. "No Downworlder will hold us accountable for not sacrificing three of our children to Jonathan Morgenstern's pyre of corpses."

"Artemis Morgenstern is not one of your children," Matthias says with vicious glee, and I feel chills overtake my body. "She is directly of the angels, and has no voice to protect her. You can force her to come. You have his word on the Angel that no harm will come to her, or any of them. They are his family, and he desires them by his side. So there is no sacrifice."

My breath shakes as it comes out. I see Jace kiss Clary swiftly on the cheek before striding through the crowd, into the aisle of stairs between the benches. "I will go!" he shouts, and his voice rings throughout the room. "I will go, willingly." His sword is in his hand. He throws it down, where it clatters on the steps. "I will go with Sebastian," he says into the silence that follows. "Just leave Clary and Arta out of it. Let them stay. Take me alone."

"Jace, _no,_" Alec says, but his voice is drowned by the clamor that rings through the room, voices rising like smoke. Jace stands calmly with his hands out, showing he has no weapons.

Matthias laughs. "There will be no bargain without Clarissa, and especially not without Artemis. Sebastian demands them both, and I will deliver what my master demands."

"You think we're fools," Jace says. "Actually, I know better than that. You don't _think _at all. You're a mouthpiece for a demon, that's all you are. You don't care about anything anymore. Not family or blood or honor. You're no longer human."

He sneers. "Why would anyone want to be human?"

"Because your bargain is worthless," Jace says. "So we give ourselves up, and Sebastian returns his hostages. Then what? You've been at such pains to tell us how much better he is than the Nephilim, how much stronger, how much cleverer. If you want to bargain with someone, you offer them a chance to _win. _If you were human, you'd know that."

The silence is so defining that you could have heard a drop of blood hit the floor. Matthias is still, his blade still pinned against Jia's throat, his lips shaping words as if he were whispering something, or reciting something he had heard –

Or listening, I realize, listening to words being whispered in his ear.

"You cannot win," Matthias says finally, and Jace laughs, a sharp acerbic laugh.

"You see what I mean," Jace says. "Then what does it matter if we die now or die later –"

"You cannot _win,_" Matthias says. "but you can _survive. _Those of you who choose it can be changed be changed by the Infernal Cup; you will become soldiers of the Morning Star, and rule the world with him as your leader. Those who choose to remain the children of Raziel may do so, as long as you remain in Idris. The borders of Idris will be sealed, closing it away from the rest of the world, which will belong to us. The land granted to you by the Angel, you will keep. That you can be promised."

"Sebastian's promises mean nothing," Jace growls.

"His promises are all you have," Matthias says. "This offer stands only so long as you give yourselves up willingly to our master. No negotiations."

I see a million emotions fly through Clary's face, all cut by a grim acceptance as she pushes, gently, through the crowd. My hand moves of its own accord and I grab her. "Don't," I whisper. If she goes, I will follow. That I have no doubt of.

"He needs all of us," she whispers, and I drop my hand. "If Jace goes to Sebastian without us, he'll be killed."

"He'll kill you both anyway," Isabelle says, nearly crying with frustration. "You can't go, and Jace can't either – _Jace!_"

Jace turns to look at us. His expression changes as he realizes what Clary is trying to do. His shakes his head, expression hardening, mouthing one word: "No." Even in the face of defeat, he reminds me that he carries the blood of an angel in his veins.

My fists tighten. So do I.

I manifest a bow for Alec, and give him one arrow. I stand in front of him, blocking his target for the moment.

"Give us time," Robert Lightwood calls. "Give us some time to cast a vote, at least."

Matthias draws the knife away from Jia's throat and holds it aloft; his other hand circled her, gripping the front of her robes. He raises the knife towards the ceiling, and light sparks off it. "Time," he sneers. "Why should Sebastian give you time?"

_Because time is exactly what he and I have an eternity of._

And I move out of the way.

A sharp singing noise cuts the air. The arrow shoots past me and I hear the sound of metal striking metal as it slams into the knife Matthias holds above Jia's head, knocking it free of his grasp.

Matthias lets out a roar and staggers back, his hand bleeding. I smirk. Jia darts away from him as he dives for his fallen blade. Power surges through my veins and I manifest my axe, shoving my way down the steps. "Get out of my _way_!" I snarl, and shoulder my way to the dais.

Suddenly, something rugby tackles me around the waist and I go down like a rock. Just before I can drive my elbow into whoever knocked me over, the dais goes up in flames. Jia cries out and leaps from the platform into the crowd; Kadir catches her and lowers her gently as all the Shadowhunters turn to stare at the flames.

"What the hell," Alec whispers, pulling himself off me.

I can still see Matthias, a black shadow at the heart of the flames. They're clearly not harming him; I can hear his laughter. The room is full of shrieks and the stink of burning wood. Aline clutches her bleeding mother, weeping. Helen watches helplessly as she, along with Julian, tries to shield the younger Blackthorns from what is happening below.

And then Matthias screams something, but I don't listen to it. I can't hear it. His voices rises to an unearthly shriek and is suddenly silenced as the flames drop away and he disappears along with them. The last of the embers lick across the floor, their glowing tips barely touching the message scrawled in ichor across the dais.

_Veni._

_I HAVE COME._

* * *

It was warm where he was. Not too cold, not too hot. Just warm. Occasionally chilly, but nothing too extreme. The way Angel liked it.

He slammed his palm into the stone wall, watching cracks spiral into the grey. The mild pain that shot down his knuckles served only to poke his frustration, if anything. Like a leak in a dam filled to the brim. He withdrew his hand and looked mildly at the blood dotting his pale skin. He wiped it on his shirt and left his room.

"Is it ready yet?" he barked, reaching the main room, where the thrones sat.

The demons scrambled about where they were, but he could see that the majority of the circle and letterings had been finished. He clenched his teeth. Damn creatures, they had had hours to do this. He pulled out his sword and – just because he was annoyed – ran it through one of the nearby demons.

"Out!" he shouted, a little louder than he meant to. A little hoarser than he meant to.

The demons did as he said, though not without curiosity. Fury mixed in with the rest of the hellish brew of emotion that broiled in his chest. They were here to serve _him. _This was _his _realm, and they were nothing. But they still were able to sense that their new master just wasn't quite right at the moment . . .

_I have to fix that. Servants that aren't afraid will never obey._

He buried the tip of Phaesphoros into the ground and dug it through the circle, finishing the lines and carving the rest of the lettering. The sound the blade made inside the stone was horrible, and made his ears felt like they were going to bleed. He dug the tip in harder, increasing the volume.

And then it was finished, and he stepped outside the circle. "_Abyssum invoco. Lilith invoco. Mater mea, invoco._"

As if on cue, the ground trembled. He felt a tug on his chest as his energy drained itself into the process of raising, again, Lilith.

He watched his mother rise in flames, as she had before. The tugging increased, and he let it drain him. His mother appeared, in an older form than the usual child-like one she preferred. Naked as the day she was created, with her black hair waterfalling down her back to her ankles. Her skin was no longer grey and cracked – it was lush again, in tune to her growing power.

"My child," she breathed.

"Lilith," he said, lifting his chin. And then the dam broke, and his voice cracked. "Mother."

Her gaze softened – if it could even be described that way. There was still mischief in it, still delight and evil. But was that not the same as his own? "Why have you called me?"

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. It took him seconds to realize it was from shame. How could he tell her that he had come to complain? No, not complain. Plead. Lament. Was there even a word for it?

"It's the angel girl," she said, as if she could see the words on his tongue.

He nodded.

All softness vanished – not because of him, he knew, but because of the mention of her. Lilith had told him to stop pursuing her. That heaven's blood wasn't as good as it was made out to be, and that he didn't need something like that ruining his plans. But he did. He'd realized that now, no matter how much his power grew or how cold he became. He'd let himself be reduced to ruins if it meant having Arta with him. He was just as bound to her as she was to him. This was love, and he hated it. It hurt. It hurt more than anything.

But by the Angel, _he needed it._

"I can't . . . I'm weak." His knuckles tightened around Phaesphoros's hilt. "For her." With a few words and a gaze that could make him slay an army, she had almost made him give up his cause completely. What would she do with a sword? With a kiss?

"I told you this would happen, didn't I?" His mother's lack of sympathy was clear, and he understood. He had to be punished; he deserved it.

But instead, he felt a hand on his cheek, and looked up sharply. His mother's black gaze met his, exactly like his own.

"Mother," he gasped, covering her hand with his own, as if he could keep her there forever.

"I should make you kill her yourself," she said. "After all, you're the only one who could get close enough to do it."

"I can't," he says. "She can't be killed."

Lilith's eyes glittered. "Anything that breathes can be killed, my child. And that angel breathes for you."


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey lovelies! Just a heads up - I figured I'd warn you this time about the long gap between updates. My week is mega busy, so never fear, the next chapter is coming. After a bit. _

* * *

9

The night air is calming as it is chilling. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and I manifest a blanket for myself. Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, and Alec are still inside, in one of the meeting rooms. After the mess that went on inside the Council meeting, I went outside to be alone, despite their protests.

"You look miserable."

I knew he was there, which is why I don't jump at his voice. I just glance up. "I didn't know they let warlocks into the Gard."

Malcolm Fade shrugs. "I told them you personally required and asked for my assistance. Life or death situation. They let me in immediately. You're somewhat of a treasured celebrity, angel-girl."

I frown. "What makes you say that?"

"Everyone seems to realize that you're Sebastian's weak spot. Considering that's the only advantage anyone seems to have over him, it makes you very valuable to the Clave. The idea of you suddenly dying would be bad bad bad for them."

"Well, I'm fine. And I didn't ask for you. So why are you here?"

His purple eyes practically twinkle. "We finished analyzing the sample of blood you gave us. I figured you'd be interested with the results."

My heart jitters. "Have you gone to Jia? I told you –"

"Yes, yes. But what interests you won't interest her. Unless she's secretly in love with Sebastian too. In which case, that would be incredibly awkward. And scandalous."

I close my eyes. "Malcolm, what did you find?"

"The Endarkened can't be healed. The effects of Lilith's blood are permanent. That's what I told Jia."

"Wait, did you lie?"

"Not really. Regarding the Shadowhunters, it wasn't a lie. But about your little boyfriend, well, it is."

It takes me a moment to realize what he's saying. "You mean I can fix what Lilith has done to him?"

"Well, I didn't say that."

I glance at Malcolm's neck. It wouldn't be very hard to strangle the shit out of him. "If I don't hear the point of this conversation within the next thirty seconds, I'm going to leave."

"Well, I'm sure you know that we examined the Heavenly Fire in Jace. That we were given a personal account of his time with Sebastian, along with a few DNA samples and whatnot."

"Twenty seconds."

"Count down all you want. You'll hit zero before I mention the parasite in your boyfriend's mind."

"_What_?"

He grins. "I figure that gives me a time extension. Sit down. This might take a bit."

I wave my hand, manifesting a chair for both of us. Malcolm continues. "Lilith's blood takes on a sort of parasitic quality. It allows a new thought process to invade the host while still leaving them with the majority of their own personality. But selective ideas, opinions, and memories will be affected or ignored so the invasive thought process is still their own."

Malcolm is by no means a slow talker. I sit there for a few seconds before I actually piece together what he's trying to say. "Like Jace. When he was bound to Sebastian, but was still himself."

He nods. "From the details of his experience, that seems to be exactly the case. Their connection was just a variation of what the Infernal Cup is doing to the Endarkened. Except its perminant."

I think back to Amatis. She remembered Luke, her marriage – everything. She was still herself, just evil. I think of Matthias, talking about how he was glad he wasn't a Shadowhunter anymore. _Controlled by thoughts planted in their minds, _I realize. Those thoughts are permanent for them. But he said . . .

"Is that what's going on with Sebastian?" I ask suddenly.

Malcolm nods. "Theoretically, yes. I could be completely wrong. But that's what the facts say."

"It's the same as it was with Jace, right?" I leap out of my chair. "I can burn Lilith's blood out of him!"

"Please don't strangle me," he says. "It hasn't happened in twenty years and I'd like to keep it that way."

I didn't even notice my hands were on his shoulders. I quickly sit back down and try to contain my excitement. "So this means I just need to get a weapon of heaven." I could pull a few strings, maybe see if Dad could ask one of his friends to get him one. It isn't easily acquired, but the urgency that has taken me over won't accept no as a possibility.

"Nope."

My smile fades. "Excuse me?"

"Weapons of heaven burn out all evil. You know that. The only reason Jace survived being stabbed by that fancy sword was because he was more good than bad. With all that demon blood in your boyfriends system from birth, do you really think he'll survive the process?"

Just like that, my hope dies as quickly as it surfaced. It's quickly replaced by anger. "Then why the hell did you come here? To tell me that I could save Sebastian, but can't really save him at all?"

Malcolm shrugs, and I want to slap him. "I came to tell you that he could be fixed. I personally don't think it's a path worth pursuing, but then again I'm not in love with him. Tall dark and psychotic isn't really my type. You, however, have more resources than most people. No one ever said a weapon of heaven was the only way to burn out evil."

I look down at my palms and curl my fingers in. "Thank you, Malcolm."

"I probably wouldn't thank me. Now that you know you can help him, you'll be ever more hesitant to let anyone kill him."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"Because," he says, standing. "if I were you, I'd want someone to tell me." He pauses. "That, and I figured if you found out I knew and didn't tell you, you'd probably try to kill me."

I wouldn't, but I'm fine with letting him think that. "Good man. I'll see you later."

"Probably not for awhile. Battle is coming your way sooner or later, and I prefer to avoid that sort of thing. But yes, in spirit, we'll see each other eventually."

And then he's gone, leaving behind the scent of sweets and oak.

* * *

Home. That's where I go afterwards. We all collectively agreed that, in case Sebastian tries to come after us, he'll come after me first. So, to avoid making it easy for him, I'd have to hide. I leave Jace and Clary with a few powerful protective enchantments, and return to my favorite house, one between dimensions.

The first thing I do after I breathe in the familiar scent of my favorite house is tug Heosphoros from my belt and throw it across the room, where it smacks into a wall and drums against the floor. I tug and wriggle the Morgenstern off my finger, irritating the skin and causing more pain than I need to, but I don't care. I don't stop until the ring spirals on the ground. Then I rip my sweatshirt off, shrug out of my sweatpants, and manifest a very soft blanket.

Then I pick up the phone and call my mother.

She picks up on the first ring. Probably because my calls aren't very frequent. I'm already sadder when she asks, "What's wrong?"

"I need to tell you something." My voice cracks, which probably tells her all she needs to know. "It's about a boy named Sebastian Morgenstern."

Long story short, Mom knows the name. Well. She listens patiently as I explain our relationship – I give her the parent-friendly version, of course – up until now. I explain the ultimatum he gave the Clave, and what I have to do. And then I break down crying, and she continues to listen to my ugly sobbing through the phone. She doesn't say a word until I wipe my eyes and nose and take in a deep breath. "Okay. I'm good now."

"So you found your man. And he's gone and ruined himself, is that it? He isn't the same boy. He's something evil."

"Yes." I scrub the side of my face. "Is this ever going to go away, Momma? They're going to kill him, and I'm might have to let them. Once he's dead, I'll be alone forever. Will it be over then?"

"No, it won't." Her voice is gentle. "It'll be a scar. A big, ugly scar. And I know that frightens you, my darling. But you know how it works with our kind. We love only once, and it lasts forever."

It's like listening an audio of the Terms and Conditions of life. I make a face. "Mom, you're not really helping."

"Did you ever listen to the millions of stories I told you about your father?" I can hear my mother's smile, and I find myself getting angry. How can she make this about her now, of all times?

"I'm going to hang up if you start telling me any."

"Then I'll come to your house and tell you in person. You might as well listen now, because there's a point to everything I say. I don't waste words." Mom pauses. "Most of the time."

"You're wasting words now," I mumble to myself. The phone buzzes, and I jerk back at the small current that frizzes my hair.

"Heartbreak and sass are a bad combination. I'll only deal with one. Now, I told you what your father did his first decade after he stopped aging."

Our kind stops aging when we meet our significant other. It works out well, so a thirteen-year-old doesn't fall for a fifty-year-old, or a forty-year-old for an eighteen-year-old. I'm done aging. My sister stopped at twenty-five. "He went all bad, I know."

"Ha! Understatement of the century. Your father was a terrible man. He realized that offering his services to people of dark nature paid well. He realized that using darker magic had interesting effects when mixed with his angelic power. He realized that being bad was fun, and that killing was a matter of perspective."

"I know, I know," I say. "And you brought him back, made him good again –"

"Nope."

"What?" I sit up. This part of the story, I haven't heard.

My mother actually sounds a little sheepish when she speaks. "I followed his example. If it meant keeping him, I didn't care. Though your father has always been a bit more, er, eccentric. He could stomach a lot more than I could. And I lost him, because I couldn't' t keep up. We spent a year apart. I was miserable."

"This is an awful story."

"I met a few Shadowhunters, same as you. And while I was with them, your father came looking for me. He missed me, you see. I went out of my way to stay away from him, but he found me. Inevitable, really. Either he came to me or I would go to him. But he was still bad. And I was still bad. But our friends . . . they were good. They made me good. And through them, your father became good. He saved a lot of people, including my friends. And we haven't separated since." She pauses. "Your sister was conceived that night, actually."

"Mom!"

"Sorry, sorry. My point is – Sebastian came to you, didn't he? Maybe he is evil now. Lilith's blood would be a permanent poison. But some part of him loves you. Some part of him is what you fell in love with. It can't die. Not unless he himself dies."

"Mom," I say, eyes watering again. "You're saying I can't give up on him."

"That's your call. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he _is_ gone. That's your call, too. Do you think he's completely gone, Artemis?"

I don't have an answer, because I don't know. Can I even trust my own opinion? Mixed with Malcolm's earlier speech, the answer is definite.

"I don't know," I tell her.

"That's alright. That's better than a no. Now you know what's poisoning him. Separate him from that, surround himself with you as I did with your father, and you'll see. You said he almost agreed to leave it all when you asked. He wants to come with you."

"Oh God, Mom, I hope so," I whisper.

"I do to," she says softly. "I want you to be happy, my darling."

I close my eyes. "What would you do, momma, if you were in my position?"

"I already was in your position. And you know what I did."

I hang up, but not before my mother promises to come over immediately.

For some reason, I want to call my sister. Ask for her opinion. But we haven't spoken in so long, it would be awkward. And I doubt I'd get good reception, since this time of year she lives down in hell with her husband, one of the Greater Demons. They live in Amsterdam during the other months.

I stare at the phone, tempted to call Clary and ask her how they're all doing, even though it's only been a few hours since I last saw them. My hand is halfway to the phone when a knock on the door interrupts me.

I smile, the idea of seeing my mother face-to-face lightening of a childish part of me that I thought had burned out awhile ago. I hurry to the door, keeping the blanket around me so she doesn't scold me for my habit of not wearing pants, and open it.

My smile drops.

"Angel," Sebastian gasps, chest soaked in blood, pain etched in his features. "Help me."

* * *

He pretty much collapses on me immediately after that, but I catch him. It doesn't take much to keep him steady – not just because of how strong I am, but because he's weaker than he was before. He reeks of Lilith's scent. His blood is throbbing with it.

My eyes widen. "By the Angel, Sebastian, what did you do?"

"I drank too much," he whispers, clinging to me. He coughs, and blood sprays from his lips onto the floor. "I drank too much . . . of her . . . her blood."

I help him over to the couch, where he collapses in a sweaty, panting mess. My heart is racing – what do I do? I have no idea how to alleviate the effects of Lilith's blood. I rush to grab the phone to call my parents but Sebastian jerks up and shakes his head. "Don't –" He coughs, and more blood follows. "Don't."

I let go of the phone, eyes watering. I climb to his side, discarding the blanket. I manifest a wet towel and wipe the blood from his lips, then manifest him a fresh shirt. That one starts to bleed through too, and so I press my hand to his chest, using as much strength as I can to stop the wound. It's a strange wound, and it takes more of my power than usual to close it.

I clean the couch, give him a new shirt, and wipe his face gently. He watches me as I do all this, and finally pulls me close once I finish. He tugs me against his body so I'm laying down beside him. Like spooning, except I'm facing him.

"What happened, Sebastian?" I ask softly, pressing my palms to his chest. He strokes my hair, chest still heaving.

"I was stupid," he whispers softly, voice still hoarse. "I thought I was weak, Angel. You made me weak, and I had to – I had to be stronger. I summoned my mother. I asked her to help me – and she gave me more of her blood."

My breathing hitches. "I told you not to. I told you not to let her give you anymore."

"I should have listened," he croaks. "I'm dying, Angel. It's too much, and it's killing me. She saw how weak I was – she was disgusted. She sent me away. I came to the only person who I knew still loved me. The only person who ever loved me."

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. "I'm sorry. She's destroying you, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Arta." His arms wrap around me, hugging me close to his non-beating heart. "She told me the only way to make myself stronger was to kill you."

I stiffen.

"But he couldn't do it." Sebastian rolls me over, straddling my waist, pinning me to the couch. He wraps one arm around me, lifting my back off the leather. "_Morietur, et __angelum._"

And then I hear a sickening _thud_, and pain shoots through my spine as a long, sharp dagger buries itself in my back. I gasp, and Sebastian grins, teeth black and sharp. He sinks the blade in deeper, until the hilt presses against my back and the tip cuts into my heart.

"I never wanted you as a daughter-in-law anyway," Lilith says, climbing off me. "Rest in pain, little angel. The secret to your death is not as secret as you thought."

The last thing I see is her form changing as she retreats, from a silver-haired boy's to a black-haired child's.


	10. Chapter 10

10

_There are two people. A man, and a little boy. They sit in a field of rolling grass, with the mountains settled behind them, the sun a fiery halo in the sky. The man sits comfortably and watches the little boy, a few feet off, roll around in the grass with no particular goal. He rips up clover as he feels free and tosses it in the air, watching it fall with a grin. He tears more, staining his hand a lush green that he smears on his cheeks. Black dirt is buried deep in his fingernails, creating black crescents. _

"_Don't dirty your clothes," the man warns. "Remember, we're going somewhere later."_

_The boy wipes a smudge of brown from his dark pants. "Why does it matter? S'not like we're going anywhere special."_

"_Presentation, my son. Keep your filth on the inside."_

_The boy glances down at the grass and says nothing._

_And then he grins. "Is that why you're so clean, father?"_

_The man looks slightly taken aback, but his eyes narrow with something quietly angry. Pain, maybe. "I am clean, inside and out. Maybe you will be, too, someday."_

"_Is that why mother loved you?"_

"_Yes."_

"_S'that why she didn't love me?"_

"_Yes."_

_The boy sits cross-legged and pulled at a head of clover. "Is my mother ever coming back?"_

_The man reaches one Marked arm to brush his pale hair aside over his ear, similar to his son's. "No Jonathan, she isn't ever coming back."_

_Jonathan glances back at his father, eyes hooded sadly, voice quiet. "Is she dead? Dead means never coming back."_

"_No, she isn't dead."_

_He sits up again and turns around on his hands and knees, clutching the clover piece tightly in his small fist. "Then why did she go away?"_

"_Because of you. Because there's something wrong with you." _

_The boy looks horrified. He stares at the grass. The dark circles under his eyes contrast heavily with his pale skin, making him look even more haunted. His free hand digs into the ground. "Can you fix me?"_

"_No amount of fixing can make her love you," the man says quietly, simply. As if it is a fact that should be well-known by now. Not something that could break a boy. "Only I can love you. Only I can love a monster. Do you understand?"_

_The boy turns away, hiding his face as he bows his head. He drops the clover and whispers quietly. "Yes."_

* * *

He sat up abruptly, feeling something ghastly and dry in the back of his throat. He blinked away the last of his dream and hunched over. He stared at his palms, clear of green, clear of black.

The tapping sounded again, louder, and he realized what had woken him. "Announce yourself!" he barked, fisting his sheets. Black silk. Why the hell had he chosen black silk?

"Amatis, sir. I have news."

"Leave me." Maybe if he slept now, he could dream of Angel. He often did dream about her. It was one of the reasons he loved nightmares – the good dreams always followed after that. And in his dreams, he was never alone.

"It concerns Artemis."

He perked up with foolish hope. Had she and Clary and Jace given themselves up to him? Was she here? He sprung out of bed at the idea, not bothering to grab a shirt as he opened the door. He didn't mind the cold anymore. "What?"

"It appears that she's missing."

It took him a moment to process what he had heard. Even then, he was still confused. "What?"

"Her absence was noted, but only now have they become alarmed; she has been missing for five days."

"She's hiding from me?" he murmured, running his knuckle over his lower lip. "No. She knows better than that . . ."

"Does she?"

He glanced at her, eyes steely. "Do not offer me a worthless opinion. Send spies. Find out where she is. I want her safe."

"I'll have her here as soon as possible."

"No," he said. "I want her to come to me willingly. I want her to chose me over the Nephilim." She said she hated his ultimatums. Well, he had given her one she had to appreciate; to save the Nephilim, she would have to leave them and come to him, where she wanted to be. It wasn't saving really, though. It was just buying time.

"I'm sure she will," Amatis said, clearly having fulfilled her point of arriving.

"Dismissed," Sebastian said distractedly, and shut the door.

_If mother comes back, and I'm all fixed as you want me to be, will she love me?_

_I'm sure she will._

* * *

Hypersensitivity is the weirdest sensation when you're not aroused.

This I note as I feel literally every brush of wind, every inch of clothing against my bare skin, every prod from every blade of grass, accented by a constant prick and the warmth of the sun on my body.

Only, the sun is right next to me.

I frown and blink my eyes open. Once. I see white. Twice. I see light and green. I force them open, and slowly the world focuses. Grey sky, and falling salt. No – those are snowflakes. That's what those pricks were. I see the shore of a lake as I sit up slowly. My body instinctively turns towards the source of warmth. That's when I see him.

He's a grown man who manages to look young and old at the same time. Maybe because his smooth, almost inhuman skin is marked with golden runes that move like rippling fire. Maybe because his eyes are solid white, and make him look older than his body does. His hair is a fall of browns; light brown, dark brown, chocolate brown, all sorts. He turns to me, and for a moment I can't breathe. His face wasn't just sculpted by the angels – it's _of_ the angels. He is inhumanly beautiful.

And yet, it does nothing for me.

_I was wondering when you would awaken,_ he says, and I blink, trying to register his voice. It's a cry and a shout and music all at once, somehow stringing itself into sounds I can comprehend. I've heard angels speak plenty of times, but not like this. And his scent is different, too. Richer. Older. And yet . . .

"Where are your wings?" I ask, frowning.

He doesn't move, but I do see a shimmer. His wings, golden, flash briefly, resting on the ground, spanning at least twice my size on each side. I realize his right wing is curled in slightly, wrapping around me. It vanishes.

_Hiding and displaying them makes no difference to me, but I imagine it would be easier to appear to you in as human a form as I can manage._

He isn't one of the normal angels. This I can tell. He's one of the higher ups – one of the famous angels who's names were commonly mentioned in the Bible. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm confused. I . . ." I was stabbed in the back last I remember, actually.

_Your memory is correct. Lilith attacked you, with a strange form of magic. It was clever of her – she worked around your only weakness. It may not have killed you, but it would have left you crippled in sleep for an eternity if your mother had not found you._

"Why did she try to kill me?" I find myself twisting the Morgenstern ring, which has somehow reappeared on my hand.

_You are a weakness to her son. She wanted to remove all distractions._

I close my eyes. Bitch. "You said my mother found me. Where is she now?"

_At peace with your father. They know you are well._

I scrub the side of my face. Everything has cleared up now, and my mind is working again. I notice the snow falling around the angel. I hear the sound of Lake Lyn churning against the pebbled shore. "Did you help me?"

_Healing is my forte._ His voice takes on a wry tone. _And your father begged me to save you. He had never asked anything of me prior. How could I refuse him?_

How could you not? You're an angel. A high up angel. I'm still trying to figure out how my dad was even able to contact you. He wouldn't have summoned him, because that's a level of degrading that he would never stoop to. But I sincerely doubt this guy rescued me from the goodness of his heart.

_You wound me, child._ The angel smiles, and it's the purest smile I've ever seen. I forget about the cold. I forget about my confusion. _I am Raphael, 'He who Heals'. And I am your grandfather._

* * *

My dad mentioned at some point that I had a powerful granddaddy. I'm pretty sure I even met my Dad's Dad when I was little, but never realized that it was fucking _Raphael._

I make a face. _I called my grandfather hot._

Raphael laughs, and my ears heat up. _Your mother thought the same thing. Ah, how jealous it made your father. _

That's so much worse. "I'm sorry it's just . . . I never knew you were my grandfather."

He seems amused. _Do you think all people of your kind are as powerful as you and your father are? That is my blood in you, Artemis, that makes you so pure._

"Pure".

_And it is my blood in you that compels me to sit with you now. I have decided to give you a gift, daughter of my blood._

Excitement and weariness are neck and neck in me, now. Great gifts always come with a price, but angelic gifts have always been the exception. "What is it?" I ask quietly.

_A Heavenly Gift. Heavenly power I bestowed to you while you were asleep. It lives inside you like the heavenly fire lives inside your friend. However, this power strengthen you. It increases your own abilities for as long as you host it inside you. But it can be spent – spent in a miracle that can be preformed with the power of the angels. A miracle as absolute as if I had granted it myself._

My throat dries. "A miracle of heaven? I can grant myself one miracle of heaven?"

_Anything. But only one. _

My heart drums. "I could . . . I could bring back Zeb."

_If you wished._

"I could heal Sebastian."

Raphael's expression doesn't once waver. _If you so wished, then that you could do. But I cannot say that that is the wisest choice._

"But why?" My ringed hand clenches. "Why can't I save him? If I can make him good again –"

_As an angel, I will not tell you what to do with your Gift. As your grandfather, I will remind you that there are more things happening in your world than the war embedded inside your lover. I know you love this world. _

"But Sebastian _is _my world," I mumble. "You're saying I shouldn't waste my miracle on myself. On fixing my love life."

_Heroes aren't remembered for the things they do for themselves._

I feel my eyes start to burn, and I hastily wipe them. "Can I save him, then? Is there any other way?"

_Yes._ His voice is sad, almost._ But those alternative paths will not be so easily found. They will take time. Yes, the Gift is the safest way you_ _could burn out the filth in his veins. But I will warn you – there will come an instance where your Gift will be needed. If you have spent it before then . . . _

I nod, knowing that I shouldn't bother him with anymore question about this. Not out of courtesy, but because something tells me that he won't answer anymore.

"Thank you," I say finally. "Thank you for healing me. And helping me."

_Don't thank me just yet, child of my blood. _

Raphael stands up, taking the warmth with him. I watch as he steps into Lake Lyn – no, not in. _On. _His feet never sink into the water, rather, he walks on top it, sending ripples with every footstep. He continues through the lake, down its center. It's the strangest sight, because it's almost as if he grows bigger the farther away he gets.

_Your friends are waiting for you, _he says finally, before vanishing completely.

Once he's gone, I push myself to my feet. I feel the hum of something deep inside me – that power he was talking about. It throbs in me, waiting to be used. I test it out, calling Heosphoros to my side. It appears, and I give it a sheath and place on my hip. I stroke the hilt and walk from Lake Lyn.

_Damn right they are._


	11. Chapter 11

_Apologies for the long wait! I'll have the next chapter posted *Wednesday to make up for it! Expect great things ~ ;)_

* * *

11

The first thing I did after leaving Lake Lyn was briefly teleport to the human world, grab a Frappe from McDonald's, and teleport back to Idris. It's getting dark, and it seems like most people are inside their homes.

When I get to Amatis's house, it's empty. I know I shouldn't be too worried – they probably decided to find someplace safer to stay. But I can't help it; I was gone for a week. It takes seconds for people to die. Seconds for people to get kidnapped. Seconds for decisions to be made – surrender to be confirmed.

I don't realize that I've taken myself to Emma's door until I've rapped hard on the wood and find myself face to face with her puzzled blue eyes. Since I'm short, we're pretty much eye-to-eye. From what I can see, she's dressed as if she was just about to go out when I knocked.

"You – you're dead?" She sounds more startled than confused.

I sip my drink. "False alarm. Do you know where Jace and Clary are?"

I expect the worst, but luckily she relaxes, and I can tell her answer is going to be positive. "They're at the Lightwoods. At least, that's what I hear."

"Thank you." I start to leave, but then I stop. "I . . . how are you guys doing? I know you've got it but . . . do you need anything?"

She seems surprised that I asked, and I'm glad I did. She shrugs, trying to play it easy, but I know she's more worn than she's letting on. "We're doing as well as you'd expect, I guess. I guess an army of babysitters would be nice. Julian hasn't gotten much sleep."

I remember the peek I got of him at the Council meeting; he looked terrible.

"I'll send you a care package," I say, forcing a smile. "Sorry – you look like you were about to go somewhere. Didn't mean to make you late."

She perks up slightly. "Actually – I was about to sneak out to talk to Clary. But I think what I have to say will help you, too."

It's her tone – I have a feeling I know what her topic of discussion will be. "Is it about . . . him?"

She nods.

I reach behind her and shut the door to her house. "Walk with me."

Once we're far enough away from most of the occupied houses, we find a secluded area and talk. I throw a cloak over us, one that blocks us from view, so we don't have to worry about prying ears.

"I recognized that man at the Council meeting," she says. "The one who threatened Jia Penhallow. He came with Sebastian to attack our Institute." She swallows. "That place he said we would all burn in, Edom –"

"It's another word for hell," I say. "It's not a real place."

"It is," she insists. "When they attacked the Institute, I heard them. I heard one of them say that they could take Mark to Edom, and sacrifice him there. And when we escaped through the Portal, I heard her calling after us that we'd burn in Edom, that there was no real escape." Her voice shakes. "The way they talked about it, I know it was a real place, or a real place to them."

I think back to the recent conversations I had with Sebastian. If what she's saying is true, then some of them make sense. He mentioned he had a throne in hell. He mentioned he had a new home for himself.

"Of course he'd pick a dimension in hell," I mutter. "This is pretty important, Emma. Why didn't you tell the Clave?" I'm not scolding her. I'm genuinely curious.

"Because I don't trust the Clave," she says in a small voice. "But I trust you."

I can't help it – I smile, feeling my cheeks warm. "Thank you. It's been awhile since people have trusted me when it comes to Sebastian."

"Something happened to you," she says simply. "You seem different."

"I am different." I offer my hand. "Come on. We better go tell the others about this."

* * *

We just about gave Clary a heart attack. Then, when she recognized it was me, she almost had one for real.

After getting over her initial shock and listening to Emma's theory, Clary told me that the Clave had assumed that I either ran off with Sebastian or went into hiding. Either way, no one really thought I was dead. It's almost flattering, how invincible they think I am.

I see Lilith in the back of my mind, straddling my waste, wearing my lover's face. I remember the fear in that moment when I thought that I _did _have another weakness that I had never been taught. But Lilith had been bending the rules of my death, and death does not appreciate being tampered with.

Alec walks back into the room carrying a book bound in brown leather. He holds it in a way that hides the title, but the nod that he gives Jace makes it clear that he found something. My heart pounds.

Jace turns to Emma. "Did the Clave members you overheard give any sense of when they were going to decide what to do?"

She shakes her head. "They were still arguing when I left. I was going to crawl out the window, but Arta showed up at the last second."

"Why did you go to Emma's house?" Isabelle asks.

I honestly don't have an answer. I was drawn to it, almost as if some subconscious part of me knew that Emma would know something I'd need to know as well. Maybe it's part of the gift my grandfather gave me. "Intuition."

"Is Intuition the reason why you're still alive?" Jace pries. I didn't really give much detail to the I-was-attacked-and-needed-time-to-heal story.

"I'll explain in detail later, I promise," I say.

"All the time," I hear Alec laugh. I glance over to see him and Emma talking. "Jace could get himself killed putting his pants on in the morning. Being his _parabati _ is a full-time job."

I snort. Jace gives me a look.

"I wish I had a _parabati_," Emma says. "It's like someone who's your family, but because they want to be." She flushes, suddenly self-conscious. "Anyway. I don't think anyone should be punished for saving people."

"Is that why you trust us?" Clary asks, sounding touched. "You think we save people?"

Emma toes the carpet with her boots before finally looking up. "I knew about you," she says to Jace, blushing. "I mean, _everyone _knows about you. That you were Valentine's son, but then you weren't, you became a Herondale. I don't think that mattered to most people – most call you a Lightwood – but it made a difference to my Dad. I heard him say to my mom that he'd thought all the Herondales were gone, that the family was dead, and that he voted for the Clave to keep looking for you because he said, 'The Carstairs owe the Herondales.'"

"Why?" I say. "What do they owe them for?"

Emma shrugs. "I don't know. But I came because my Dad would have wanted me to, even if it was dangerous."

Jace huffs a soft laugh. "Something tells me you don't care if things are dangerous." He crouches down, putting his eyes on a level with Emma's. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything they said?"

I can't help but smile at the sight of Jace being so warm to Emma. For a moment, the image of a white-haired boy in his position slips into my mind. But instead of Emma, I see Max.

My throat tightens and I look away.

"They don't know where Sebastian is," she says. "They don't know anything about Edom."

"Thanks for telling us. It's a help – a huge help. But you should go," he adds gently. "before they notice you're gone. But from now on, the Herondales owe the Carstairs, okay? Remember that."

Emma looks to me, and I smile and lead her to the window. I bend down, wrapping her in a hug.

"Please find Mark," she whispers in my ear.

I squeeze her tight. "I will try. I swear."

I unlatch the window and Emma climbs through with the agility of a monkey. She swings herself up until only her dangling boots are visible, and a moment later those are gone too. I hear a light scraping sound overhead as she darts across the roof tiles, then silence.

"I like her," Isabelle says. "She kind of reminds me of Jace when he was little, and stubborn, and acted like he was immortal."

"Two of those things still apply," I say, swinging the window shut.

Clary sits down at the window seat. "I guess the big question is, do we tell Jia or anyone else on the Council about this?"

"That depends," Jace says. "Jia has to obey the overall rule of the Clave. If they decide they want to toss us into a cage until Sebastian comes for us – well, that pretty much squanders any upper hand this information has given us."

"So it depends on if any of this information was useful or not," says Simon.

"Right. Alec, what did you find out?"

Alec pulls out the book from behind him. _Encyclopedia Demonica, _the spine reads. "I thought Edom might be a name for one of the demon realms –"

"There are millions of demon dimensions," Isabelle says. "It would make sense that he's in one of them, since he's un-trackable, but you can't just _go _there."

"Actually," I say, raising a finger. "you can. My sister does it on a regular basis, usually a few times per decade."

"Why?"

"Her husband's down there." I make a face and point to the ground. "We don't really talk about that, though. Angel-blooded marrying a Greater Demon? Now _that's _an awkward dinner conversation."

Simon frowns. "You have dinner with angels?"

"Your sister married a Greater Demon?" Jace sounds stunned.

"Anyway," Alec says loudly. "she's right. Some demon dimensions are better known than others. The Bible and the Enochian texts mention quite a few, disguised and subsumed, of course, into stories and myths. Edom is mentioned as a wasteland." He opens the book and flips to a red bookmarked page. "_And the streams of Edom shall be turned into pitch, and her soil into sulfur; her land shall becoming burning pitch. Night and day it shall not be quenched; it's smoke shall go up forever. From generation to generation it shall lie waste; none shall pass through it forever and ever."_ He sighs. "And of course there's the legends about Lilith and Edom, that she was banished there and rules the place with the demon Asmodeus."

"Lilith protects Sebastian," I say quietly. "If he was going to go to a demon realm, he'd go to hers."

"'_None shall pass through it forever and ever' _ doesn't sound very encouraging," Jace says. "Besides, do you even know how to get to Edom?"

"Well, there is a way, I think," says Alec. "A pathway that the Nephilim can't close, because it lies outside our jurisdiction. It's old – older than Shadowhunters." He sighs. "It's in the Seelie Court, under the protection of the Fair Folk. No human has stepped foot on that path in more than a hundred years."

I make a face. "There's no other way to get there? We can't try to Portal?"

"We're not demons. We can only Portal within a dimension." He glances at me. "Though, _you_ could try. You said you came back stronger than before. Maybe your rule of having to visit a place to teleport to it has been bent."

I shake my head. "It hasn't. And even then, I won't risk it. What if I open the portal into Edom and we land in a den of demons? Or worse?"

"Clary," Jace says. "You can make a Portal to the Seelie Court, right?"

"Yes," she says. "That I could do. I've been there, and I remember it. But would we be safe? We haven't been invited, and the Fair Folk don't like incursions into their territory –"

"There's no 'we'," Jace says. "None of you are coming. I'm going to do this alone."

I snort. "Whoa there, Jace. For a sec I couldn't see you past your massive ego."

Alec springs to his feet. "I knew it, I bloody knew it, and absolutely not. Not a chance."

Jace cocked an eyebrow at him; he was outwardly calm, but there's tension in the set of his shoulders and the way he rocks forward slightly on the balls of his feet. "Since when do you say 'bloody'?"

"Since the situation _bloody _warrants it," he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought we were going to discuss telling the Clave."

"We can't do that," Isabelle says. "Not if we're going to get to the demon realms through the Seelie Court. It's not like half the Clave can just pour into the Court; that would seem like an act of war against the Fair Folk."

"Whereas if it's just six of us, we can sweet-talk them into letting us through?" I raise an eyebrow.

"We've parleyed with the Queen before," Jace says. "You went to the Queen when I – when Sebastian had me."

"And she tricked us into taking walkie-talkie rings she could listen in on," Simon says. "I wouldn't trust her further than I could throw a medium-sized elephant."

_Why a medium-sized elephant?_

"I didn't say anything about trusting her. She'll do whatever's in her interest at the moment. We just have to make it her interest to let us have access to the road to Edom."

"We're still Shadowhunters," Alec says. "still representatives of the Clave. Whatever we do in Faerie, they'll answer for it."

"So we'll use tact and cleverness," I say, and turn to Jace. "Look, I'd love to make the Clave deal with the Queen and her court for us. But we don't have time. Luke and Jocelyn and Magnus and Raphael – they don't have time. Sebastian's gearing up; he's speeding up his plans, his bloodlust. You don't know what he's like when he gets like this, but I do. _I do._" I don't realize that I've twisted the Morgenstern ring sharply on my finger until I feel a stab of stinging pain on my ring finger. I ignore it. "Which is why you can't do this alone, Jace. You need us."

"She's right," Alec says. "We know that heavenly fire can hurt Sebastian. But we don't know that that's the only thing that can hurt him." He glances at me. "Besides, you don't even know how to track him."

"Once I'm in his world, I can. I've done it before –"

"_We _can track him," Clary says. "Jace, there's more to this than just finding him. This isn't just about killing Sebastian; this is about the prisoners. It's a rescue mission. It's their lives on the line, as well as ours." Her voices cracks.

Jace pauses. He looks at each of us one at a time, eyes pleading. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"Yeah, well, none of us want anything to happen to us either," Simon says. "But think ahead; what happens if only you go and we stay? Sebastian wants Arta, wants her more than he wants you. He can find her and Clary here in Alincante. Nothing's stopping him from coming except a promise that he'll wait two days, and what are his promises worth?"

_Promise me I'll wake up in bed next to you, every morning._

_I promise._

"Which is why we come with you," I hear Isabelle say. "You _need _us. You need Clary's rune powers and Simon's vampire strength and, well, everything Arta has to offer. This isn't just your fight."

"I know," Jace says softly. "I know I need you." He looks at Clary and clears his throat. "Thank you."

I clap my hands together. "Well, it looks like this operation is a go."

Jace rattles off supplies that we'll need, and the room moves in a haste to put it all together. Clary is the only one who doesn't. Instead, she touches my hand. "Remember that time at the apartment, when we trailed Sebastian through Paris"

I frown. "What about it?"

"You were worried about the demon den because you said if they caught your scent they would . . ." She stops. "You say your sister goes down to hell. How does she do it?"

"Her husband's scent cloaks her, at this point." I twist the Morgenstern ring on my finger. "You're worried about what my scent will do when we go to Edom."

"Can you blame me?"

I smile. It's empty. "I guess I'll just have to do as my sister did."

* * *

"You're lying."

I shrug innocently. "Would I lie?"

Jace turns back around with a look of disbelief. "You're grandfather is _Raphael?_ By the Angel, who else is in your family?"

"Well, I might be distantly related to Gabriel on my mom's side."

"Does this meant that Raphael technically has a Greater Demon as a grandson-in-law?" Simon asks, amused.

I thumb Heosphoros's hilt. "I guess he does."

We continue down the main corridor of the Seelie Court. I insisted on throwing an invisibility cloak over us, but Jace was concerned that the Fair Folk might be able to sense it. _They're part angel too._

"Here," he says softly, motioning the rest of us to be quiet. We're in an archway, a curtain separating us from a larger room beyond. I remember my father showing me pictures of this place. Once the curtain had been made from sea foam. Another time, writhing butterflies.

Now, it's thorns. Thorns like the ones that surrounded Sleeping Beauty's castle, thorns woven into one another so that they form a dangling, thick sheet. I catch a glimpse of the room beyond – a glimmer of white and silver – but I can hear the sound of laughing voices coming from the corridors around us.

Glamour runes don't work on the Fair Folk; there's no hiding from view. I raise a hand and gently part the curtain, ignoring the pricks in my hand. The pain is a fraction of what it should be, and heals almost instantly. Gripping hard, I pull it aside so everyone can go ahead. Blood slicks my palm, and a few drops run down my wrist. The moment everyone is through, I give my wrist a sharp flick, letting the droplets fly. I follow them in.

The room is a winter wonderland. It reminds me of when my parents took me to the top of a frosty mountain for my first winter, since the place we lived in at the time provided no snow. It was the first time I had seen something so white, so bright, so perfect. Seeing it here is like a sick joke, almost. A mockery of my memory.

I look down at the hem of the large black sweater that drapes over my frame, obviously too big. One of Sebastian's old sweaters, something left behind in an air pocket awhile ago. Preserved perfectly, it smells just like him. The old him. Talk about a sick joke.

The walls are sheets of white crystal, matching the divan on which the Queen reclines. The floor is covered with snow, and long icicles hang from the ceiling, each bound around with ropes of gold and silver thorns. Bunches of white roses are piled around the room, scattered at the foot of the Queen's divan, wound through her red hair like a crown. Her dress is white and silver as well, as diaphanous as a sheet of ice. You can see her body through it, but not clearly. I grind my teeth, knowing how unflattering such a dress would look on me. Honestly, I think the Seelie Queen only exists to make other women insecure.

Her head is tipped up, speaking to a heavily armored faerie knight. His armor is dark brown, the color of a tree trunk; one of his eyes is black, the other pale blue, almost white. His helmet, tucked under his arm, is decorated with antlers. I briefly make note to steal it later.

"And how goes it with the Wild Hunt, Gwyn?" the Queen asks. "The Gatherers of the Dead? I assume there were rich pickings for you at the Adamant Citadel. I hear that the howls of the Nephilim tore the sky as they died."

I feel the Shadowhunters around me tense. I remember the Wild Hunt – that night in the nest of blankets, when Sebastian showed them to me, pointed them out as they rode the night sky. I wrap my arms around myself.

They continue to talk, and with each word I can feel the mood darkening. One thing in particular, though, catches my ear.

"But I gave you such a gift. The Blackthorn boy," the Queen says. "Shadowhunter and faerie blood together; it is rare. He will ride at your back, and demons will fear you. A gift from myself, and from Sebastian."

Two things hit me. One, the mention of Mark Blackthorn. I remember Emma's whisper, and my hand creeps to my blade. Second, Sebastian. The way she said his name. She said it comfortably, familiarly. There was _fondness in her voice._

My breathing comes out, sharp and quick. Almost as quickly, a sneer curls on my lips. The bitch. I knew we couldn't trust her. I told Sebastian how much I hated her – he allied with her in his anger, didn't he? He became closer to her to make me mad.

_Achievement fucking unlocked._

I feel a hand on me, and glance over to see Clary, hand reassuringly on my shoulder. I see Isabelle, who has gone completely while and looks sick, like Alec and Jace. I imagine Sebastian, in the claws of this woman, and I grip Heosphoros's blade tightly.

". . . would ask only of your assistance," says the Queen, in a voice like silk. "with the bodies afterward. And there will be bodies. The Nephilim will pay for their crimes, Gwyn. Everyone must pay."

Before Gwyn can reply, a figure strides into the room from the dark tunnel behind the Queen's throne. Meliorn, in white armor, black hair in a braid down his back. His boots are encrusted with what looks like blackish tar. My stomach rolls just seeing him – if it's possible, he gives me a worse feeling than the Queen.

He frowns when he sees Gwyn. "A Hunter never brings good tidings."

"Subside, Meliorn. Gwyn and I were only discussing an exchange of favors."

Meliorn inclines his head. "I bear news, my lady, but I would have counsel with you in private."

She turns to Gwyn. "Are we agreed?"

He hesitates, then nods, curtly. With a glance of disdain in Meliorn's direction, he disappears down the dark tunnel from which the faerie knight had come.

The Queen slides down in her divan, looking rather unhappy. "Very well, Meliorn. What did you wish to speak of? Is it news of the Downworld prisoners?"

I hear Alec's sharp intake of breath behind me, and Meliorn's head whips to the side.

_Fuck._

"If I do not mistake myself, my lady," he says, reaching for his blade. "we have visitors –"

I burst through the curtain, Heosphoros in my palm, ready to slice into anything that gets too close to me. I level Meliorn with a steely gaze, listening as the others follow on my heels, arranging themselves at my side in an arc, Jace at our head. Alec, with his bow already strung – Isabelle with her whip out and glittering – and Simon, with no better weapon than his own self. He smiles at Meliorn, and his teeth glitter.

The Queen draws herself upright with a hiss. I can't help but grin – it's the first time I've ever seen her flustered.

"How dare you enter the Court unbidden?" she demands. "This is the highest of crimes, a breaking of Covenant Law –"

"How dare you speak of breaking Covenant Law!" Jace shouts, so outraged that I can see the veins of his neck standing out. His seraph blade burns in his hand. For a second, I remember that night at the Seventh Sacred Sight, when Sebastian screamed at me, chest burning. The memory doesn't make me sad anymore – it makes me _mad._

"You, who have murdered, and lied, and taken Downworlders of the Council prisoner," Jace continues. "You have allied yourself with evil forces, and you will pay for it."

"The Queen of the Seelie Court does not pay," says the Queen.

That's it. That's fucking it. I stride out of the arc formation, past Jace, and up the Queen's divan. The Queen moves, but I'm faster. The tip of Heosphoros pricks her pale throat, and she shrinks back.

I sneer. "Everyone pays."

"How did you do it?" I hear Jace, a few feet behind me. "Meliorn swore that you were on the side of the Nephilim. Faeries can't lie. That's why the council _trusted _you."

The Queen says nothing, and I narrow my eyes. I glance at Meliorn and take in a whiff of his scent.

My teeth clench. "He's half-faerie."

The Queen's eyes glitter. Only she could look amused with a blade to her throat. "Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one, Shadowhunter."

"_That's _why you wanted him on the Council," Clary says. "Because he can lie."

"You scheming little insect_,_" I seethe. I might have called her a poopy-head for all the reaction she gave me to the insult.

"A betrayal long planned." Jace is breathing hard. "Cut her throat, Arta."

"You would not dare," the Queen says. "If you touch the Queen of the Seelie Court, the Fair Folk will be ranged against you for all time."

I smile, and for a second that confidence the Queen portrays flickers just barely. "I'm not a Shadowhunter, now, am I?"

I lunge forward, changing the position of the blade so it's long-ways against her throat. One sharp pull is all I need to cut her open. "I'm the offspring of the angel Raphael. I am not Nephilim by the Mortal Cup. If I were to kill you, it would be an act of war from the angels. How well do you think you'd fair if you were ranged against Heaven, my Queen?"

She's breathing heavily. "The Nephilim aided you."

"Fine. Say you take your wrath out on them. What exactly do you call this, then?" I shift the blade. "We heard you. You spoke of Sebastian as an ally. The Adamant Citadel lies on ley lines – provinces of the Fey. _You_ led him there. You opened the way, and let him ambush us. How are you not _already _against the Nephilim?"

"'Ally?'" The Queen's lip quirks up.

My sneer fades. "What are you –" Then it hits me. My jaw drops, and the Queen's smile is unhindered by fear. "You _bitch!_"

I could have sliced her throat in a fraction of a second. That's all it would have taken me. But hands clamp down on my shoulder just before my hand can tighten around the hilt and yank me back. I stumble back, and when I right myself, I see Jace in my place, his seraph blade at the Queen's throat.

"Calm down," he tells me, not looking away. "We still need something from her."

I look back at Clary and the others, and their looks of surprise catches me off guard. What are they staring at? I look down at myself, at my arms.

_Holy shit._

My body is glowing. Glowing, as if someone stuffed a million fireflies beneath my skin and they're all fluttering around at once, as bright as a sun. As I watch, the glow dulls by the second. There's no telling how luminescent I was on the divan.

_I guess this is what I'll look like when I use the Heavenly Gift._

I look over at Jace, then at Meliorn. An ugly look crosses his face. "You may have heard us speaking, little Nephilim, but if we kill you before you return to the Clave to tell your tales, none others need ever know –"

The knight starts forward, and I flat-out laugh and wave my hand. His leg snaps and he topples backward with a cry.

I start forward, but Alec is faster and walks past me, arrow notched in his bow. Meliorn is on the ground, moaning. His leg is twisted at a sickening angle, and normally I would feel bad for doing something like this. But I really, really don't like faeries.

Alec stands over him, bow ready. "Tell us how to get Magnus – how to get the prisoners back," he says. "Do it, or I'll turn you into a pincushion."

Meliorn spits. His white armor seems to blend into the snow around him. "I will tell you nothing," he says. "Torture me, kill me, I shall not betray my Queen."

I snort once, quietly. Loyalty can be so pathetic. "It doesn't matter what he says," I say. "He can lie."

Alec's face shuts. "True," he says quietly. "Die then, liar." And he lets the next arrow go.

It sinks into Meliorn's chest, and the faerie knight falls back, the force of the arrow sending his body skidding back across the snow. His head hits the cave wall with a wet smack.

The Queen cries out. The sound is shrill and high, and makes my ears buzz. It's a cry of pain, a cry of distress that will call her people. Sure enough, I can hear them coming.

I curl my lip. "Shut up, will you?"

I feel a burst of energy pour from my chest and ride down my body and slam into the ground. The earth trembles and moves. It rises up and slides across the open archway, like a theater curtain closing a show. There are shadows rushing toward the door, shadows of the faeries, but the door is already sealed by then.

"By the Angel," Isabelle says in awe.

I turn back to Jace and the Queen. His sword is pointed at her heart. Alec still stands over Meliorn's corpse, and my eyes dart to the dead man's boots. I wave my hand, and the back tunnel behind him opens, the passage that Meliorn and Gwyn used.

"Aren't you going to keep that closed?" Clary asked.

I shake my head. "Meliorn had pitch on his shoes. Edom was described to have pitch in it. He came from the demon realm. I think . . . I think they're that way." I look up. "Jace, tell her what we want, and that if she does it, we will let her live." _I'll kill her another time._

The Queen laughs, a shrill sound. "Little angel," she says. "I underestimated you. Sharp are the arrows of a broken heart. You are nothing like your father."

I narrow my eyes. My Dad mentioned he had had a fling with the Seelie Queen. I never thought she'd remember – he sure tried not to. "You knew my father?" I ask, feigning dry surprise.

"Biblically, yes," she smirks. "I hadn't known pleasure before he spent his nights in my bed."

"I really don't think anything about her family could surprise me at this point," Simon mutters.

If I didn't feel nauseous before, I sure as hell do now. I don't let it show. "Really?" I twirl Heosphoros by the hilt, letting the point dig into the ground as a distraction. "I'm not surprised. Mom said he had a whore phase for a bit."

I can't even begin to express how gross it felt to say that, but the expression on the Queen's face makes it so worth it.

Her eyes narrow. "It seems we both share such experience, considering how little you mean to my Morning Star."

_You're everything to me, _I remember him saying to me in my room. "Say what you want, my Queen. He loves me more than he lusts for you." The knowledge that Sebastian actually _slept _with her burns. It could put me on a couch eating Ben & Jerry's for centuries, especially because he knows I hate her. He wanted to hurt _me. _

"He wants you for your army," I say. "He wants me for me."

"Then why is it my bed he warms, and not yours?" Her smile is lethal.

I have no reply to that. I stand there, teeth clenched, and victory sings in her eyes. She knows she has me.

"You underestimate us," Alec says, face tightening. "You always have. The Fair Folk are an old people, a good people. You aren't fit to lead them. Under your rule they will all wind up like this." He jerks his chin towards Meliorn's corpse.

"You are the one who killed him," she says. "not I."

"Everyone pays," he says, and his eyes on her are steady and blue and hard.

Jace steps in. "We desire the safe return of the hostages Sebastian Morgenstern has taken."

The Queen spreads her hands. "They are not in this world, nor here in Faerie, nor in any land over which I have jurisdiction. There is nothing I can do to help you rescue them."

"Very well," Jace says. I have a feeling he expected that response. "There is one other thing you can do, one thing you can show us, that will make me spare you."

The Queen goes still. "What is that, Shadowhunter?"

"The road to Edom," he says. "We want safe passage to it. We will walk it, and walk our way out of your kingdom."

To my surprise, the Queen seems to relax. The tension bleeds from her posture, and a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. I feel uneasy immediately. "Very well, I will lead you to the road to the demon realm."

The Queen lifts her dress in her hands so she can make her way down the steps. Her feet are bare, but she doesn't seem to notice the cold as she makes her way across the room to the dark passage. I'm assuming that's a natural tendency for cold-hearted bitches.

We somehow fall in a single-file line behind her. Jace in front of me, Isabelle behind me, and Clary, Simon, and Alec, behind her.

_I hate to say this, but I agree, _I say to Clary. _But that seemed too . . . easy._

_That wasn't easy, _Clary says.

_I know, but the Queen is clever. She could have found a way out of doing this if she'd wanted to. She doesn't have to let us go through._

_But she does want us to. She thinks we'll die there._

I give her a look. _Will we?_

_I don't know, _she says, and speeds up to catch up with the others. I do the same.

* * *

The tunnel wasn't as big as I thought it would be. The darkness made the distance seem impossible to fathom, but the walk was only about twenty minutes before we broke out of the shadows and into a larger lighted space. A massive cave, too tall for a roof. The scent of phosphorus, sulfur, and demon reek is laced in the walls. It makes my nose scrunch up, which the Queen notices.

"Here we are," she says, amused. "Can you guess the right road?"

There are three that splinter off from where we stand. My eyes skip over the first two to the last; the darkest, a narrow tunnel with spiked metal and thorn bushes lining the side. I can see stars at the end – the scent coming from it is different. Not as pungent or overbearing, just dry and headache-inducing.

"These are the Three Roads," Alec says. I look at him, puzzled, and he explains. "Faeries don't like their secrets getting out, but sometimes human musicians have been able to encode faerie secrets into ancient ballads. There's one called 'Thomas the Rhymer' about a man who was kidnapped by the queen of Faerie –"

"Hardly kidnapped," objects the Queen. "He came quite willingly."

_Did Sebastian come willingly? _I gnaw at my lower lip.

"And she took him to a place where three roads lay, and told him that one went to Heaven, one went to Faerieland, and one to Hell. '_And ye not that narrow road, so thick beset with thorns and briars? That is the path of righteousness, though after but few inquires.'_" He points to the narrow tunnel.

Yeah, see, this is why Jace couldn't have done this on his own.

"It goes to the mundane world," the Queen says sweetly. "Your folk find it heavenly enough there."

"That's how Sebastian got to the Adamant Citadel. That's how he got his army through," Jace says, disgusted. "Many of the Nephilim are dead, because of you."

"Mortals," the Queen says. "They die."

I ignore her and point to the narrow tunnel. "That's the road to Edom? The road to hell?"

"I always heard it was paved with good intentions," Simon says.

The Queen gives him a look. "Place your feet upon the path and find out, Daylighter."

Jace twists the tip of his blade into her back. "What will stop you from telling Sebastian we've come after him the moment we leave you?"

The Queen makes no sound of pain, but her lips thin. She looks old in that moment, and it delights me. "You ask a fine question. Even if you kill me, my Court will speak of you, and he will guess what you have done. You can not evade his knowing, lest you slay my entire Court."

Jace pauses. I don't hesitate – I trust whatever decision he makes. I wouldn't stand behind him if I didn't.

"Come now," the Queen chides. "You do not have the stomach for so much killing. You were always Valentine's gentlest child."

I twirl a ball of light in my palm. "I'm fine with slaying her Court. Say the word."

It's an empty threat – Jace knows it, but she doesn't. Her back stiffens, just slightly, and I see a flicker of something primitive in Jace's eyes. He knows he has her in a bind, even though she has said nothing.

"Swear," he says. "I know what promises mean to your people. Swear you will say nothing of us to Sebastian, nor will you allow anyone in your court to do the same."

"I swear," the Queen says. "I swear that no one in my Court by word or deed will tell him that you came here."

Jace steps away from her, and I step up. "I know you think you're sending us to our deaths," I say coldly. "But we won't die so easily. We will not lose this war. And when we are victorious, and the Nephilim pour through your gates to tear you down, I will be there, to deal with you personally." I lower my voice. "Don't think my angel blood hinders me from slaying monsters."

The Queen's smile is wiped from her face, and I spin on my heel and join the group. The walk to Edom is silent, and I feel the prick of every thorn we pass by. Even the ones that don't touch me.

* * *

Discipline.

That was what Sebastian had been in the midst of when the Seelie Queen called upon him. Some of his demons were being rather annoying, and he felt as if they should know. What better way to alert someone of their own obnoxiousness than to stick a sword in them?

He wiped a streak of blood from his cheek, and turned to her. "My beautiful one," he said, voice calm and composed. "I am . . . somewhat occupied at the moment."

"I thought you might like to know that the prizes you've wished for have just left this place," she said. "They found the road to Edom. They are coming to you."

It took a second for the words to truly register. He grinned wide, unable to hide his delight. So they were coming. They were really coming, out of their free will, to him. "Artemis is with them, yes?"

"Naturally." The Queen's tone was not quite as happy when she said that, but his excitement made it impossible for him to care. The only thing more amusing than her jealousy was the idea that he preferred her over Angel. Of course, he and the Queen weren't in an exclusive relationship, nor one meant for love. But damn, did she get jealous.

He smiled to her. A charming quirk of his lips that he knew she would find attractive. "They didn't make you promise not to tell me that they came to your court?"

"They did." Her eyes glittered. "They said nothing about telling you of leaving."

He laughed. Charming was the Queen's cunning.

"They killed one of my knights," she said. "Spilled blood before my throne. They are beyond my reach now. You know my people cannot survive in the poison lands. You will have to take my revenge for me."

Another difference between Artemis and the Seelie Queen. One would make the trek to live with him, the other would not. No matter – he had planned to eradicate the Faeries anyway. He'd figured Artemis would ask him to do it once she became his queen. He would, no question. He'd destroy all the Downworlders if she asked.

"I will serve your interest in all ways, my Queen," he said. "In a short enough while, your people and mine shall hold the reins of the world, and when we do, you may have revenge on any who have ever offended you."

She smiled at him. It wasn't a real smile, but his promise wasn't a real promise. "I do adore you," she said.

"Yes," Sebastian said, imagining Angel on his throne, in his bed, whispering the same words. How sweet they would sound, ringing with truth. He grinned. "And I do like to be adored."


	12. Chapter 12

_Apologies for not having this up on Sunday! Hope you guys enjoy!_

* * *

12

So we ran into Mark Blackthorn.

We had been walking for some time now. The corridor we followed looked like it had been carved straight from the stone, with remnants of ashy trails and eerie glows layered in and on the walls. The floor had begun to lose its smoothness, becoming rough and gritty. As the light started to wane, Alec lifted a witchlight. I reached over and touched it, increasing the glow.

As the light struck the walls, Simon had stiffened. "Something's moving," he said. "Up there."

That "something" turned out to be the missing Blackthorn. Clothes torn and dirty, feet bare and black with filth, armed runed – he was definitely not where he wanted to be. Clary was the one who recognized him on sight by his family ring.

"How did you get here?" I ask, feeling a tidal wave of relief. Emma – I'll actually be able to keep my promise to her. Bring her friend's brother back.

"I was with the Hunters underground," Mark says, voice low. "I heard Gwyn talking to some of the others about how you'd show up in the Queen's chamber. I snuck away from the Hunters – they weren't paying attention to me. I was looking for you and ended up . . . here." He gestures to the tunnel. "I had to talk to you. I had to know about my family. The faeries told me – they said they were dead. Is it true?"

There's a shocked silence. Panic blooms in his expression as his eyes dart to each one of us. "It's true, isn't it? My family –"

"Your father was turned," I say. "but your brothers and sisters are alive. They're in Idris. They escaped. They're fine – all of them."

I expect relief, a joyous thank you and permission to teleport him to his family. But he doesn't look happy at all. His face goes white. "What?"

"Julian, Helen – they're all alive," Clary says. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches under her touch. "They're alive, and they're worried about you."

"Clary," Jace says, warning in his voice. That's when I understand.

"Have you . . . eaten anything, drunk anything, since the Fair Folk took you?" I ask quietly. Jace moves to look at him, and he flinches away from the blonde Shadowhunter. I hear Jace's sharp intake of breath and turn to him.

"His eyes," he says, raising his witchlight and shining it into Mark's face. Mark scowls again, but lets Jace examine him.

His eyes are large and long-lashed like Helen's. But unlike hers, his are mismatched. One is Blackthorn blue, the color of water. The other is gold, a darker version of Jace's own eyes.

Jace swallows visibly. "You're one of them, now," he says. "Your part of the Wild Hunt."

_No._ I push past Jace and scan the boy, desperate to see if there's anything I can do. Upon studying him, I notice something else on his arms, besides his runes. "Put your hands out," I say, and he does so. I catch one, gently, and turn it over.

I can almost hear Clary stiffen behind me. Mark is wearing a t-shirt, and his forearms are striped with bloody whip marks. So that's why he flinched when Clary touched him. I look at the gashes, remembering a crueler set of whip marks on the skin of another boy's pale back.

I look up at him. "When did this happen?"

Mark pulls his hand away. Both of them are shaking. "Meliorn did it," he says. "When he first took me. He said he'd stop if I ate and drank their food, so I did. I didn't think it mattered, if my family was dead. And I thought faeries couldn't lie."

"Meliorn can," Alec says grimly. "Or at least, he could."

Bastard. I should have twisted all his limbs.

"So is it true?" Mark demands. His jaw is set tight, and I have to admire his strength. "Gwyn said I belonged to the Hunt and I couldn't leave them unless they allowed me to go. Is that true?"

"It's true," Jace says quietly.

He slumps against the cave wall. I know I shouldn't feel guilty for what's happening to him, I know I shouldn't feel any of his pain. But I was so close to not screwing something up for once. Instead of bringing back the lost Blackthorn child, I have to tell his family that he's gone forever.

"Let me see your hand," I say.

"What for? You've already seen –" He cuts off when I go ahead and take his hand anyway. I press my thumb to his pulse, which is hammering. I ease his panic, and slowly the pulse calms. As it does, his wounds seal over and heal, as if they had never been there.

His eyes widen. "How did you –"

"It's a gift," I say, letting go of him.

"You don't have any Marks," he says, rubbing his hand over the spot where I touched. "You aren't a Shadowhunter, but you aren't human." His eyes light with understanding. "You're _her_, aren't you? The angel with the New York Institute?"

"Angel-blooded," I correct, somewhat flattered that he's heard of me before this whole mess, all the way in Los Angeles. "Upgraded a bit."

"Can you free me from the Hunt?"

Any sense of positive feeling is crushed. "I . . ."

"You're direct angel-spawn," he says, coming up to me. His tone is urgent. "You can work miracles, can't you? You can undo this."

"Mark," Jace says, warning in his tone. "She isn't an angel. She can't perform miracles."

_But I can. _I clench my fist. I have the Heavenly Gift.

I look at the road ahead. Yes, I could undo Mark's link to the Hunt with the Gift. But we're going to Edom. Who knows what will happen? I might need the Gift there. Should I use it now, so carelessly?

_Are you really concerned about the road ahead? _A little voice sneers at me. _Or are you saving it for Sebastian?_

My teeth clench, and I step back. "I'm sorry, Mark."

His eyes fall, and my guilt almost forces me to speak. But my selfishness keeps my mouth shut.

"Helen," he says finally, and I look up. He's looking at the others. "She can't take care of my family, not alone. Jules – he's too young. He can't take care of Ty; he doesn't know the things he needs. He doesn't know how to talk to him –" He takes a shuddering breath. "Let me come with you."

"You know we can't," Jace says. He can't even look at Mark's face – he's staring at the ground. "If you've sworn fealty to the Wild Hunt, you're one of them."

"Take me with you," he repeats. He has the stunned, stubborn look of someone who has been mortally injured but doesn't realize the extent of the damage. "I don't want to be one of them. I want to be with my family –"

"We're going to Hell," I say, cutting him off. "We couldn't bring you with us, even if you could leave Faerie safely."

"And you can't," Alec says. "If you try to leave, you'll die."

"I'd rather die," Mark says, and Jace's head whips up. His eyes are bright gold, as if the fire inside him is spilling out through them.

"They took you for your blood," Jace says, gaze intent. "Shadowhunter and faerie. They wanted to hurt the Nephilim. Show them what a Shadowhunter is made of. Show then you aren't afraid. You can live through this."

In the wavering illumination of the witchlight, Mark looks at Jace. His eyes are watering, tears streaking through the dirt on his face. "I don't know what to do," he whispers. "What do I do?"

"Find a way to warn the Nephilim," Jace says. "We're going into Hell, like Clary said. We might never come back. Someone has to tell the Shadowhunters that the Fair Folk are not their allies."

"The Hunters will catch me if I try to send a message. They'll try to kill me."

"Not if you're fast and smart," Jace says. "You can do it, Mark. I know you can."

"Jace," Alec says, bow at his side. "Jace, we need to let him go before the Hunt notices he's missing."

Jace and Mark exchange words, and Jace gives him his witchlight. The boy looks at a loss, and in those moments he stands there, I want to say something. Do something. Surely there's a way for me to save him.

And then he turns and runs away, soundlessly down the tunnel.

"You gave him your witchlight," Isabelle says. "You've always had that witchlight –"

"Screw the witchlight," he snaps. I hadn't realized the anger building in him. He slams his palm into the wall of the stone, leaving a black mark in the shape of his hand. His skin still slows, as if the blood in his fingers were phosphorus. "I don't exactly need it anyway."

"Jace," Clary says, putting a hand on his arm. "You can't save everyone."

"Maybe not," he says, light in his hand dimming. "But it would be nice to save someone for a change."

* * *

There's a swarm of people here in heaven.

And it _is _heaven. It feels like it – warm and chilly, sweet and bitter, massive and yet contained in the ballroom that we fill. People are dressed in gowns and suits, and everyone is happy. I hear the clink of glasses and the dull roar of conversation. I see Isabelle and Simon spinning together, smiles bright. Magnus and Alec stand in the corner, Alec too shy to dance and Magnus satisfied with just his lover's company. They're chatting with Maia and Jordan, who are both dressed in fur rather than ball gowns. It seems like they don't plan on dancing, either.

I see Aline and Helen, and the entire pack of Blackthorns. I see Max and Robert and Maryse. I see Luke and Jocelyn together, Jocelyn in the white of a wedding gown and Luke in a suit like the black fur of a wolf. They're talking with my parents, who have their back to me. But I recognize my dad's build, and my mother's hair.

And I see Jace and Clary, finally, in each other arms, the picture of a beautiful couple in the center of the masquerade. Jace's mask is white, and brightens the color of his golden eyes. Clary's mask is blood-red, like her hair, and make her green eyes look ever more vivid. They dance like a dream, flawless and untouchable. And I thought _I _was supposed to be the –

"Angel."

I know the voice before I see the speaker. He's walking towards me, bright smile on his face. My throat dries, and my heart flutters. God, he's so handsome.

He's discarded the jacket of his suit, so now he only wears a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, beneath a black vest and black slacks. His mask is the same color, and makes his snow white hair look even brighter. It accents the green of his eyes, too, making them look as vivid as Clary's.

"Sebastian?" I whisper.

He stops in front of me and grins. "Now someone's getting into the spirit of the masquerade." He bends down and kisses me, but I'm too dazed to respond. He pulls away. "If I'm Sebastian, then what should I call you? Ariel?"

I continue to stare at him, and he settles his arms lazily around my waist. "It's a joke, darling. I guess it wasn't that funny."

"No – I . . ." I press my hand to his chest, feeling his beating heart. His scent is so different now. Like before, but without the smell of Lilith on him. I breathe it in deep, and I remember what my father used to tell me. _The scent of your other half is the first thing you notice. _I never noticed, because it had been clouded with demon.

"Are you alright?" His brows knit in concern. "Is it the dress? I told Izzy not to give you something so tight."

_He doesn't like the way it accents your bust, _a voice tells me. _He was practically at the throats of any man who drooled on you. And they all drooled – who wouldn't? Everyone knows how powerful you are, how beautiful. You saved the Nephilim from Lilith's evil. Valentine Morgenstern, a brave warrior, died in the battle, and you comforted his grieving son. That's how he came to love you._

I look down at myself. The dress is blue, and falls in ruffles. For some reason, I can see it in my mind – a picture of elegance from another time, making my figure look better than it really is. I pull the skirt up and admire the incredibly high heels that I've somehow managed to walk in. "These aren't very comfortable."

"You could take them off, if you wanted to." He waves his hand, and a pair of shorter, more comfortable-looking heels appear on the floor beside me. "To be honest, it's strange seeing you this much taller." He winks. "I like you as you are."

"How did you –" _His grandfather was the angel Michael. His blood has made him a legend in battle, and you've always admired him for it. _

I change shoes, and the ones I previously wore vanish. Sebastian brushes my hair back over my ear and cups my face. He bends down and kisses me again, and I return it this time. He tastes sweet and strong as always, his kiss just as drugging.

"Sorry," he whispers against my lips. "I can't seem to keep my hands off you. I blame the dress."

I smile. "Is there anywhere where you could admire it in private?"

His eyes glow brighter, and I laugh and pull him down so I can kiss him again.

"_Jonathan!_" I hear a familiar voice call.

He mutters something under his breath that would make me giggle, if not for the fact that it's Zeb walking over to us.

"Your timing is brilliant as ever," he says dryly.

"_Of course it is. I _am _an angel,_" Zeb grins. "_How are you enjoying your birthday, Artemis?_"

"Zeb?" I whisper. I can't stop staring at him, and he frowns.

"_Are you alright?_"

"Zeb – it's me."

He turns to Jonathan and grins. "_I think your girlfriend had a bit too much to drink. What kind of man lets that happen?_"

"What kind of friend lets a friend let his girlfriend get drunk?" Jonathan grins back.

_Zeb and Jonathan have been friends since they were old enough to walk. This is the third time you've met. _

No. That . . . that isn't right.

As Zeb walks away, I frown. Why wouldn't it be? I turn to Jonathan. "We haven't danced yet."

"Of course!" He settles his arms around me. "How could I forget to give the birthday girl a dance? I'm such a terrible boyfriend."

I laugh. "You could never be a terrible boyfriend."

He smiles then, and rests his forehead against mine. It's strange, because I swear his eyes turned black for a moment. _Are you sure?_

The music changes, and a familiar piano ballad plays. It reminds me of fire. I think of dark nights, a weeping willow, and intimate touches. I shiver, and he holds me closer. For some reason, it feels strange. Has he always been this built?

We dance for what feels like hours, gazing into each other's eyes. It's a scene straight from a soppy romance, but I feel no regret. When he bends down and kisses me again, I accept. When he guides me from the room to a secluded hallway, I let him. When he takes me to a spare bedroom and undoes the clasps of my dress, I sigh against his touch.

He kisses my shoulder as he runs his hands over my dress, the swell of my breasts, the buttons of my corset. Layers fall away and collapse lightly onto the floor until I see his skin, all muscle and planes in the dark shadows. His body is stronger, his kisses and touch are gentler as he moves above me, drowning me in love. I run my hand over his sun-kissed chest, listening to him sound his approval at my touch.

His lips are on my neck, nibbling but never biting. He wraps my legs around his waist, rough but never bruising. His body rocks against me and I gasp at his gentle, even, drugging pace. Never hungry. Never ravenous. He buries his face in my shoulder, and I in his, splaying my hands over his back. His smooth back.

"Where are your scars?" I breathe.

"You took them away," he whispers, and bliss drags me under. I see black as I continue to fall. I see the black of stars, settled on a ring I wear beneath my wedding one. I see his black eyes. I see the black of smoke, setting heaven aflame. And suddenly, it's all gone, being sucked away from me. The party, my family, my friends, and my Jonathan.

* * *

I wake up in a black world. The sky is sunless, streaked with the red of old blood and barren as the earth it rises over. I dig my fingers into the ground, forcing myself up, and pitch buries itself beneath my nails. I stand, and realize that my body is shaking. My blue gown is replaced by a familiar worn sweatshirt and stretch pants. My Cinderella shoes replaced by worn boots. The weight on my face is not from a mask, but from tears. I wipe them hastily as I make my way up the nearest hill.

What happened? I try to recall as I make my way down. Simon saw the end of the tunnel, and we stepped through. And . . . here I am.

In the depression between two rises of ash and rock, I see Isabelle and Alec. He's comforting his sister, who sees me first. I reach her, and I can tell from her expression who she saw in her dream.

"I think I know who _you_ saw," she says dryly, and turns away. I close my eyes, unable to bring myself to say anything harsh. I can't blame her for being upset.

I hear a sound, and we all turn to see Clary and Simon making their way to us. They both looked stunned, and I understand then that all of us saw _something. _

"Are you . . ."

"We're fine," Simon says. My eyes dart to Clary, and I desperately want to ask her what she saw. _Did you see Jonathan? _

"It was a demon," Alec says. "The kind that feeds on dreams and wishes. I killed it." He glances to Isabelle. "Where's Jace?"

Clary pales. "We thought he'd be with you."

Alec shook his head. "He's all right," he says. "I'd know if he weren't –"

But Clary isn't even listening – she takes off running so fast that Forest Gump would be jealous, and the rest of us follow. She sprints up one of the hills, and I can hear her coughing the entire way. My own lungs feel coated with ash.

At the bottom of the hill is a cairn of stones – a circle of smooth rocks like a dried out well. Seated on the edge is Jace, staring at the ground.

"Jace!" Clary reaches him first and drops to her knees and catches his shoulders. She blubbers to him, and he seems mostly lucid, but dazed. Haunted. I don't ask him what he saw – I have a feeling I wouldn't want to know.

"I hate to bring this up," Isabelle says. "But did anyone see a way _back_?"

"I don't think there's a way back," I say quietly.

Alec nods. "I was going to say the same. I think it the tunnel closed up behind us."

"So this is a one-way trip," Clary says, a barely inaudible tremble in her voice.

"Not necessarily," Simon says. "We have to get to Sebastian – we always knew that. And once we get there, Jace can try to do his thing with the heavenly fire – whatever that is – no offense –"

"None taken," Jace says, casting his eyes to the sky.

"And once we rescue the prisoners," I say. "I can use my Heavenly Gift to get us back."

Everyone seems to relax then, and a chorus of nods go around. Confidence straightens my shoulders and eases my fatigue.

"That's optimistic," Isabelle says. "But what if we can't rescue the prisoners, or we can't kill Sebastian?"

"We will," I say, confidently. _I'll save him, and show you that he's harmless. And I'll get us back._

Something hits me then – I can't save him and bring us back. I can only use the Gift once.

"Or he kills us," Jace says simply. "And it doesn't matter if we get back or not."

"He won't kill you. I won't let him," I say.

Isabelle looks at me sharply. "Really? You think he won't kill us, because he doesn't have a sick desire to see pain? Because he _loves you_? I hate to break it to you – but whoever you saw in your dream isn't the same boy here. He probably isn't even the same at all. He probably doesn't even love you anymore."

"Isabelle," Simon says sharply, and she stops.

_Fuck_. I clench my teeth, and furiously rub at my eyes. That just pushes more dust into them, and I curse under my breath and turn away. I hate myself for crying at such a petty insult, but every word hit me like a dagger. Who knows? She's probably right.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I suck in a breath and look at Jace. His eyes are as livid gold as Jonathan's had been green. "Remember what we came here for, Arta," he says. "We brought you because we trust you. Because you are our friend."

I nod then, closing my eyes. "I know." I clear my throat. "Come on, we better get a move on. I don't want to be in the open when the demons come to play."


	13. Chapter 13

13

It's by pure luck that we found a safe cave to settle in. At first, Jace had been against it. Then he got carried off by a flying turtle-demon, and after we shot it down, he decided maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea.

It's a good time we find it when we do. There are demons behind us – I can smell them. But we only make it a few feet into the tunnel before we're stopped by a large metal gate.

Alec curses, looking over his shoulder. The cave entrance is right behind us, and I swear I can see shapes. My heart jitters suddenly, and I think back to all those lessons my parents gave me on keeping myself hidden around demons. I remember the stories my mother told me, of angels caught in their claws. My stomach churns.

"No – this is good," Jace says, stepping closer to the gate. "Look. Runes."

There are rooms worked into the curves of the metal; some are classic, but most are angelic runes. I recognize a few from Raphael's skin, others I remember from heaven, at Zeb's funeral.

"Protection runes." My voice is scratchy, and I clear my throat. "Protection against demons."

"Good," Simon says, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. "Because the demons are coming – fast."

I can hear them, screeches echoing through the cave. My fear drives me forward, and I grip the metal and burn through it. Using my power makes me even more of a beacon, but if it gets us in, I don't give a damn.

The gates open and we fly inside. Alec shuts it behind us, and Clary takes a moment to add a locking rune. Isabelle's witchlight flares up, illuminating the length of the tunnel. The walls are smooth, marbled gneiss, carved deeply with runes of protectiveness, holiness, and defense. The flood is sanded, making it easy to walk on. The air grows clearer as we make our way deeper into the mountain, the taint of fog and demons slowly receding until I can finally take a deep breath and not gag. During most of our walk, I was coughing and gasping. How pathetic is it that even the atmosphere here can weaken me? I should be stronger with the Gift, but the hallucination from earlier has worn me out emotionally. I don't think I'll feel better for awhile.

We finally reach a circular space, crafted by human hands. It looks like the inside of a cathedral dome, round with a massive ceiling arched overhead. A fire pit sits in the center and I toss my hand forward, setting a white fire not only for heat but for illumination. Isabelle tucks her witchlight away.

"I think this was a place to hide," Alec says. "Some sort of last barricade where whoever lived here once would be safe from the demons."

The thought saddens me. Imagine living out the last of your days here as the world around you turns to Edom. But what I find even sadder is that with all the protection, no demon would have been able to get to whoever lived here. And yet, he or she is still dead. Maybe they decided loneliness was too much.

"We're sleeping here tonight," Jace says, shrugging his pack off.

I wrap my arms around myself. "Are you sure that's safe?"

"We'll scout the tunnels," he replies. "Clary, come with me. Isabelle, Simon, take the east corridor."

"I'll go with you," Alec says, looking at Isabelle and Simon with suspicious eyes. I almost laugh.

"If you must," Isabelle says with exaggerated indifference. "I should warn you we'll be making out in the dark. Big, sloppy make-outage."

Simon looks startled. "We are –?" he began, but Isabelle digs her boot into his toe, and he quiets.

"'_Make-outage?_'" Clary asks. "Is that a word?"

Alec looks ill. "I suppose I could stay here."

"I'll stay with you," I say.

Clary frowns. "Are you sure?"

"I personally don't like third-wheeling." I shrug innocently, trying not to let it show how much the idea of exploring a possible demon-infested cave terrifies me. Normally I wouldn't care, but just being in Edom puts me on edge. How could Sebastian think I'd ever be happy here?

Jace grins and tosses Alec a stele. "Cook us a pie or something. This demon-hunting is hungry work."

Alec slumps down, hands over his knees, and I sit beside him, listening to him mutter about shaving Jace's hair off in his sleep. "See how he'd like waking up in the morning with all of it gone," he mutters.

Simon and Isabelle vanish down a corridor. Just as Jace and Clary do the same, Alec yells "And your eyebrows, too!"

I swear I hear Jace chuckle.

* * *

"You shouldn't."

"But I am," Alec says, taking another deep drink from the large water-bottle of wine. He's been at it for awhile ever since I brought up the fact that the couples have been taking awhile.

I lean back on my elbows, thinking. Amongst many other things, my mental-chat ability has become sharper. I could cast a net now, over all of Edom, and talk to Sebastian. _Hey, we're here in Edom. I'm not telling you where we are, but I just wanted to talk to you. Ask you about that bitch Seelie Queen._

"Give me that bottle," I say, and Alec obeys. It tastes sour, as expected, but it's not like I can just manifest something harder. Food and drink still aren't manifestable for me, even with the Heavenly Gift. Considering it was a big deal when Jesus did it, I'm assuming that manifesting actual edible substance is a miracle.

"Team Single," I say, raising my hand for a fist bump. Alec bumps my fist twice and takes the bottle back, setting it down.

He frowns. "Neither of us are single, though."

"I am," I say.

"Are you really?"

I ignore him.

"Izzy told me you guys have a mating thing," Alec says. "Like in books and stuff. You have a mate for life, and don't fall out of love with them. Is that why you can't let go of him?"

"Yeah." I twist the Morgenstern ring. "I'll love him till I die."

"I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds like he means it.

I smile at him. "I am too."

Clary and Jace return sometime later, and by then Alec has had some more wine. The moment he sees them, he tries to sit up, then gives up and lies back down on his back.

"I did not make a pie," he announces. "I did not make a pie, for three reasons. One, because I do not have any pie ingredients."

I giggle, and he continues. "Two, because I don't actually know how to make a pie." He pauses, clearly waiting.

Jace removes his sword and leans it against the cave wall. "And three?"

"Because I am not your bitch." He sounds pleased with himself.

Jace rolls his eyes. "That wine is supposed to be for antiseptic purposes," he says, sprawling on the ground between me and Alec. Clary sits down between me and him.

"There's not enough alcohol in wine to be used for antiseptic purposes," Alec says. "Besides, I'm not drunk. I'm contemplative."

"And musical," I jump in. "I taught him all the lyrics to _Bang Bang_ while you were gone. Alec is Nicki Minaj reincarnated."

"But Nicki Minaj isn't dead," Clary frowns.

"In this world she is."

"Right." Jace grabs an apple, slices it expertly in two, and offers a half to Clary. She cuts that half into half, and gives me a piece. I accept it, even though I'm not hungry.

_Thanks, _I tell her, not wanting to interrupt Alec and Jace's conversation.

_It's nothing. _She nibbles distantly at her piece, and I sit up.

_Something bothering you? _I frown sympathetically. _Did Jace forget to bring a condom?_

_ARTA!_

"Jeez," I say, wincing. "It was just a joke.

Clary looks at me, puzzled. "That wasn't me."

_ARTEMIS NERONI, YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW._

I swear my heart stops beating. "Oh no."

Jace and Alec have noticed by now, and Jace has his seraph blades palmed, braced for a fight. "What is it, Arta?"

"My mom," I whisper.

He looks confused for a moment, as if I just said "fish" or something. "Your – what?"

_ARTA!_

"Yes, Mom, I hear you," I say back before she can make my head explode. The fact that she can reach me from our dimension – I'd know if she was here – proves that she had to use some serious magic. It also means that she is _pissed off. _

"Your mom's here?" Alec asks, lowering his weapon.

I tap my forehead. "I'll be back." I scramble to my feet and hurry down the corridor that Jace and Clary explored earlier. I can hear Jace muttering behind me about "angel families".

_I'm going to ask you a question, Arta,_ my mom says calmly. Or, well, what can be described as calmly._ The answer better be no._

I swallow. "What?"

_Are you in Edom? One of the realms of Hell, and personal playpit of Lilith the nut?_

Fucking called it. "Can I lie?"

Mom screams at me some more. I can't even tune her out or hold the proverbial phone away from my ear, because its in my head at a fixed volume. By the time she's done, my skull is throbbing.

_HOW COULD YOU BE SO RECKLESS?!_ she roars. _Your father is beside himself! He wanted to come down after you – and he would have, if the Fair Folk weren't guarding the entrance!_

"Mommy," I say, using the term I only use in desperate situations. "Please, okay, I had to do this. The survival of the Shadowhunters depends on it – they aren't getting anything _done_ in Idris!"

_I don't care if the survival of all Nephilim depends on it – there is no reason my daughter should be in Hell. What have I told you all your life? DO YOU THINK YOU'LL SURVIVE DOWN THERE? _My mother's fury has given way to a tidal wave of panic and concern. _It's infested with DEMONS! Heavenly Gift or not, it's no place for our kind to stay –_

"Mom, Sebastian is here –"

_I don't give a damn,_ she snaps. _Mate or not, saving him shouldn't put your life at risk. I –_

"He cheated on me."

_I still don't give a damn –_

"With the Seelie Queen."

She pauses then. Finally, she says, _How long are you going to be down there_?

"Not long," I promise. "Just long enough to find him, fix him, and figure out a way to get back."

_Don't fix him before you break his teeth. And if you need me to come and bail you out, I won't hesitate to go through that Seelie bitch._

"Do you know how to get out of here?"

_I'm sure I could find a way._

I smile, a bit sadly. I will, under no circumstances, allow either of my parents to battle their way through hell. They are capable of handling themselves, yes, but if they don't know a way out, it'll just put all of us in danger. Plus, three angel-blooded would be like lighting a torch in a pitch black room. With just me, it's like a candle in a dimly-lit room.

"We'll be back within a few days," I say. "Don't worry. You always told me that Shadowhunters protect like no one else."

She makes an unhappy sound. _I _did _say that. I know you can handle yourself. But darling, please be safe. You're my little girl. _

I feel a warmth in my heart, chasing away my earlier sorrows. "I'm sorry, Mom. You can punish me all you want when I get back."

_You bet I will. As long as you _get_ back._ Her tone softens. _Do what you have to. Daddy and I will be here, no matter the outcome._

A shit, my eyes are watering. "I love you, Mom."

_I love you too, my darling._

And then she's gone, all too fast. I'm left standing there, wiping my eyes. No more tears follow, and I put myself together before striding back into the main room. Only, Jace and Alec are missing.

I frown. "Where'd Achilles and Patroclus go?"

"I hardly think that's the right comparison," Simon says. "And they went off to guard one of the open wings. There's a broken gate with demons swarming outside. They aren't coming in, but still – better safe than sorry."

"Your last name is Neroni?" Clary asks. "I thought it was Malestorm."

"I lied." I sit next to her. "Does anyone plan on getting any sleep? Because I do." I wave my hand, and the fire dies down in brightness to a nice, even black.

* * *

I wake up to screaming.

I pray it's a dream and roll over, because my motivation to wake up after a deep sleep is somewhere below zero. But I hear panicked voices and the sound of people jumping to their feet and realize that I should probably follow suit.

"Something's happened to Jace," I hear Alec say, and almost go back to sleep. Since when is that _not _the problem?

I follow the group as they sprint down the tunnel and burst through the entrance. Clary is there first, and whatever has her frozen grips Simon and Isabelle as well. I push past them, and stop when I see what's happening.

Fire. I see fire.

_Call down, Ed Sheeran._

"Is that Jace?" I whisper, and I see Alec nod.

What Jace is caught in is the center of is something resembling a tornado of unmoving fire that simply blasts straight up, bleeding the sky gold. It practically radiates heaven, and I find myself wishing I was closer.

Clary starts down the slope, and I lunge after her. She stops me. "I have an idea, but I don't know if it will work," she says. "Stay here. Protect the others. The heavenly fire should keep the demons back, but just in case."

I pull Heosphoros from my belt and hand it to her. "Just in case," I say, and she nods and accepts it before darting down the rest of the hill.

As we watch, the flames continue to dance. Demons circle it, like moths to flame. Some notice us, but before they can come, I bend down and carve runes into the stone with my finger. I don't even realize what I've done until five heavenly runes have been ingrained in the ground and glow golden.

Isabelle stares at me. "Your finger is a stele?"

I blink, somewhat stunned myself. "Part of the Gift?" I'm assuming.

As I watch, I can make out two figures amongst the wall of flame. Jace, on his knees, and a smaller figure – Clary – crawling towards him.

"Iz," Simon whispers from his girlfriend's arms. "I don't –"

"Shhh," she says, holding him tighter. I realize then that seeing Jace in there – he's her brother, blood or not. And I don't think Isabelle can watch another brother die.

"They're all right," I say. "If Jace was hurt, Alec would know. And if he's all right, then Clary's all right."

"They'll burn to death." Simon sounds lost.

Suddenly, the flames leap higher, and my heart rate spikes with it. Isabelle cries out, and I have to grab her to keep her from running down there. Alec takes a step forward, but drops to the ground on his knees. He looks like he's in pain, body trembling just slightly.

The fire rises up like a serpent, like a conscious mind, whirling and roaring and incinerating any demon in its path. Isabelle drops Simon and bolts down the path to her brother. She hauls him to his feel, crying his name.

"My _parabati_ rune – can you see it?" he demands.

_Oh God. _Even now, as the flames begin to die down, I can't wait. I sprint past them, moving too fast for them to see. Moving too fast for me to really comprehend until I'm down at the pit, trying to see them through the smoke. I can make out Clary standing, and Jace kneeling in front of her. Their hands are intertwined, and something about the position looks ritualistic. Powerful. Like a scene that would be immortalized in statue.

Jace rises to his feet, and together the two of them walk up the path towards me. Isabelle soars past me and throws herself into Jace's arms, who catches her and hugs her tight. He reaches past her to clasp Alec's hand. I go to Clary, crushing her tightly against me. It's times like this that I forget that we're the same height.

"Heosphoros," she whispers in my ear. I pull away and look down at the sword, which sits at her hip. It barely looks any different, but I can feel power radiating from it.

I look at her. "You . . . did you . . .?"

"I think." She sounds more awed than anything, as if she can't believe she managed to contain the heavenly fire into a sword. She pulls it out and hands it to me. I touch the metal out of curiosity, feeling the power hum beneath my fingertips. I wonder what it would be like to snap the metal, to let that power bleed into my fingers. Would I get the same effect if I were to be cut by it?

_Whoa, let's not go that far._

"You keep it," I say. "If anyone is going to use it now, it will be you."

She opens her mouth to protest, and I lower my voice. "Don't ask me to pierce him with the blade. I won't stop you, if that's what it comes to. But I won't do it."

Her lips thin, but she doesn't say a word. She slides Heosphoros back into her belt and we both turn to the others, waiting.

* * *

Sebastian wasn't quite sure what compelled him to visit her cell again. Curiosity, maybe. Or temptation. Perhaps a blend of both. What could he hope to glean from talking to his miserable excuse of a mother?

_Love? _

He clenched his teeth. _I already have that._

She froze when he stepped inside. Her gaze raked over him, as if she had seen a ghost. He smiled. Did she see Valentine in him? That's probably all she saw. Her husband, and a monster. _Perhaps a blend of both. _

"Mother," he said.

If he had expected fear or tenderness, he got neither. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you doing here, Jonathan?"

He found himself irritated by her disappointing reaction, but wasn't surprised. Shouldn't' have been. He still smiled, even as he pulled a dagger from his belt. "Call me that again," he said. "I will put your eyes out with this."

She swallowed, and he felt some trickle of satisfaction at seeing one of the two possibilities he had expected. But it wasn't as preferable as the other. "Is that what you came to tell me?"

He shrugged. "I came to ask you a question." He scanned his gaze around the barren room, deciding then that he should show off his palace to someone other than the demons. "And to show you something. Come. Walk with me."

She obeyed without much protest. At first he had been disappointed at such lack of strength, but then he remembered that Jocelyn was more cunning than his sister. She was probably scheming a way to stab him while he walked. Well, he would let her. Then he would kill her, once she realized how useless the effort was.

He didn't speak for awhile, not until he remembered she was there. "What if I did tell you," he said. "that I loved you?"

"I suppose," she said carefully, as if speaking to a stranger. A volatile captor. "that I would say that you could no more love me than I could love you."

He stopped in front of the set of double doors. "Aren't you supposed to pretend?"

"Could you?" His mother had no shame. "Part of you is me, you know. The demon's blood changed you, but you really think that everything in you otherwise comes from Valentine?"

_You aren't all Valentine's son, or all Lilith's blood, _Angel had once told him. _You wouldn't be able to love me if you were. You are part Jocelyn, part of a strong woman I'd be proud to call my mother._

He hadn't liked those last few words, even then. When he looked back at Jocelyn now, he didn't see some strong warrior, like Arta had led him to believe. That was Clary. Clary was strong, and cold, and cruel. Unable to escape his father's blood, like him. But Jocelyn – she wasn't like them. She wasn't like any of them.

He shouldered the doors open and stepped inside, not waiting for her to follow. He bounded up the platform, imagining with a smile chasing a laughing Angel up it, dressed in a blood-red gown. How she loved her dresses. And oh, how she'd love the dresses he had waiting for her.

He beckoned his mother to join him, and she did. He almost laughed – _I wouldn't need to make her drink from the Cup. She's obedient enough as she is._

"'_He will be great,_'" He intoned gleefully. "'_and he will reign over Hell forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end._"

"I don't understand," Jocelyn said, and he wasn't surprised.

"Let me enlighten you." He cast his hand up. The familiar rush from using magic shook his veins. He always wondered if this was what his Angel felt when she used her powers.

He showed his mother Edom and Alincante, side by side. He let her stare her fill, taking in the depth of his power. "This fortress of mine has doorways to both worlds," he said smugly. "This world is drained dry, yes. A bloodless corpse of a place. Oh, but _your_ world is ripe for ruling. I dream about it during the days as well as the nights. Do I burn the world slowly, with plague and famine, or should the slaughter be quick and painless – all that life, extinguished so quickly, imagine how it would _burn_!" His eyes danced to her. "Imagine the heights I could rise to, borne aloft on the screams of billions of people, raised up by the smoke of millions of burning hearts!" His at the head of them, set aflame by his very own avenging angel. He would let her play a hand in the carnage. He had seen her power. Surly she itched to unleash that onto the world. He would show her how. They would paint, together, in blood.

"Now," he said, turning to her. "Tell me I got that from you. Tell me any of that is from you."

Jocelyn looked so taken aback that he wanted to laugh. Of course she had no response – the woman couldn't bear imagining that her womb could expel something like him, could she? Did the knowledge that some of his evil might have come from him burn her? Did it –

"There are two thrones."

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"_Two _thrones," she said. "And I'm not a fool; I know who you intend to have sit beside you. You _need_ her there. Your triumph means nothing if she isn't there to watch it. And that – that need for someone to love you – that _does _come from me."

He stared at her. Valentine hadn't raised him to love. And yet, what was it that he felt for Angel? It was love, he knew that. It was a need, a yearning for his other half. He couldn't carve it out or drown it or bury it, no matter how much demon blood he choked down. That – that mark _was_ Jocelyn.

Weakness. It was weakness she gave to him.

"It's human," she said, and he frowned. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. "But do you really think Artemis could sit next to you here and be happy? This is Hell, and she is part-angel. She won't survive down here. This isn't where she belongs."

He sneered at her. Did Persephone belong in the Underworld? She was the spirit of nature, of life and sun and Hades had dragged her down to Hell. She grew to love it, grew to love him. Artemis would do the same.

"She will come to me willingly," he said. "She's already here. She will chose me over the rest of you. It's in her nature. She _has _to –"

He cut off then, but he saw something in his mother's eyes that let him know he had said too much.

"She's mine," he snarled, finally. "And her love is for _me_."

That thing in his mother's eyes seemed to intensify, because a second later she was flying at him, reaching for the dagger in his hand.

He stepped out of her path easily and swiped her legs out from under her. She hit the ground, rolled, and crouched, but he was there, and yanked her to her feet by the jacket.

"Stupid bitch," he growled. He felt her skin beneath his fingers, felt her quickened breath on his face. "You think you can hurt me? My true mother's spell protects me."

She jerked in his grip. "Let me _go_!"

The window exploded with light, and he reeled back in surprise. The moment he saw what was past the window, he stopped and stared, mother forgotten. The scorched landscape of Edom had suddenly blazed up with a new fire, this one golden and moving and alive. The Dark Shadowhunters were running over the ground like ants. The stars were reflecting the fire back, red and gold and orange. It was as beautiful and terrible as an angel.

His Angel.

"Heavenly fire," he heard his mother whisper.

"Indeed." A smile played on his lips, and he strode to the window, drinking the the sight. "Waste your fire on the desert air, my brother!" The cry was that of a madman, loud and filled with unadulterated excitement. "Let it pour into the sands like blood and water, and may you never stop coming – never stop coming until you have brought to me my queen."

* * *

One of the most frustrating things about Hell is the fact that you can't compare it to anything. It's literally hell.

I spent what felt like hours trying to find a worse equivalent, and until we stumbled upon the demonic version of Alincante, I thought I wouldn't find anything.

It's been reduced to ashes and rubble. The demon towers are pathetic, collapsed heaps. I remember the reality of such a thing happening in our world, when Sebastian himself took them down.

We walk into the Hall of Accords, which is no longer built of white stone, nor resembles a Greek temple. Rather, it's built from lacquered metal, and formed in the shape of a square building, like a prison.

"The Accords Hall," Isabelle says, looking up at the stairs. "Unbelievable."

We start up the steps, which are gold and streaked with black ash. The double doors at the top are massive, divided into squares containing image. Jace touches one with a black-gloved finger. Along the bottom of each are letterings, written in an unfamiliar dialect.

I frown. Wait, I know this language. "Alec, help me read this."

"Why do you assume I know how?" he mutters, but steps up with me anyway. "It's history, right?"

I nod and point at the first panel. It shows a group of humans, barefoot in robes, cowering as the clouds above them opened up and a clawed hand reached down towards them. "Humans lived here. And then a demon came –" My voice is raspy again, and I cough to clear my throat. That's when I see the next panel, bearing the image of the Angel Raziel. "Wow. Is that . . . that's _our _Raziel."

"It says the demons came," Alec says. "and the Shadowhunters were created to stop them." He continues, moving to the next panel. "But the Shadowhunters rejected the help of Downworlders. The warlocks and the Fair Folk joined with their infernal parents. They sided with the demons. The Nephilim were slaughtered. In their last days they created a weapon that was meant to hold the demons off." He nods to the next panel, with a woman holding a rod with a burning red stone.

"They didn't have seraph blades," I say. "Not in this world. It doesn't look like they had Iron Sisters or Silent Brothers, either. They had blacksmiths, and they developed some sort of weapon, something they thought might help them. The word here is '_skeptron'_. Whatever it was, it wasn't enough." In the next panel, it shows the Nephilim crumpled dead, the woman with them, the rod discarded at her side.

The rest of the history is no more cheerful than its beginning. The _asmodei_ demons here burned away the sun and tore this world of color and light. Everything that breathed was killed. The seas were drained, and the earth could offer no more life. Edom is what was left of it, a world without Shadowhunters.

We continue past the gates, through the abandoned Accords Hall. Abandoned, except for the statue in the center. I cough, feeling my throat tighten again.

I look at the statue of a handsome man in armor. It's massive, somewhat like the size of the statue of Lincoln. His feet, dressed in mail boots, rest on a golden plinth. His breastplate is decorated with angel wings, and in his hand he carries the iron replica of a _skeptron, _tipped by a circular red ornament.

There are words written on the plinth. They're the same language used on the doors. "'Jonathan Shadowhunter'," I read out loud. "'First and Last of the Nephilim'." I pause. "Well, technically, that's not right. My kind popped up way before you guys."

"Maybe your kind doesn't exist in this world," Jace says gravely, and I shut up.

"First and last," Isabelle whispers. "This place is a tomb."

Alec bends down and reads the words beneath the title. My gaze is focused on the _skeptron, _but I vaguely catch what he says. "'…_I will give authority over the nations; and he shall rule them with a rod of iron, and I will give him the morning star.'_"

"Someone got cocky," I mutter. "'_And I will give him the Morning Star._' That's the translation of Lucifer's name. Why is that on his death plaque?"

"Morning star means a lot of things," Alec says. "Either way, it means that the thing the statue is holding is a real weapon."

Jace turns to him. "You said the _skeptron _is what they developed here, instead of seraph blades, to hold off the demons." His eyes glitter, and I know what he's going to say before he says it. "That weapon. I want it."

"Well, you can't have it," Alec says. "It's attached to the statue."

"Not really," I say. "Look – they're two separate pieces."

He glares at me. "You're not helping."

"See?" Jace says, already at the base of the statue. "It's _supposed _to be removable."

"I don't think that's –" Clary starts, but he's already scaling the thing.

"Wait!" Simon darts to block Jace. "I'm sorry, but does anyone else see what's going on here?"

"Nooo," Jace drawls. "Why don't you tell us all about it? I mean, we've got nothing but time."

Simon spews something about Dungeons and Dragons that I barely listen to. What I _do _notice is the sinking feeling in my gut, and the fact that it's become noticeably harder to breathe.

"Guys," I say, coughing again. I end up coughing so hard I sound like a dying man, making everyone stop to stare at me. Clary comes to my side, bless the girl. "Are you alright?"

"Demons." I wipe my eyes. "They're near."

Jace grins. "What better reason to hurry, then."

He scrambles up the statue, quick as a monkey, pulling himself up hand over hand. He reaches the middle and braces himself before reaching across to close his hand on the _skeptron. _

I swear the statue's grimace turns into a smile. But before I can squint to confirm, the red stone flares suddenly and Jace jerks back. Too late – my ears almost burst as the room fills with a horrible, shrill sound.

Needless to say, Simon was right.

"Goddamn it," Jace shouts over the noise. "I _hate _it when Simon's right."

Simon throws him his sword, and Isabelle presses a hand to her burning pendant. "We need to get out of here!"

She doesn't need to explain. As if they heard her, the demons arrive. The sky fills with them, a vision of my worst nightmare. I'm paralyzed in fear in that moment, and I truly can't breathe. I gasp, clutching at my throat, and Clary grabs me. "Arta!" she screams. "Come on!"

They come closer, and my heart kick-starts my breath into its pace. The creatures flying at us are faceless horrors, with wings and sucker-mouths and dagger-talons. And there is enough for a small army.

"By the Angel – _run_!" Jace shouts.

_No shit! _I want to scream at him, but I'm too busy doing what he says.

We don't make it far. They fill the room, dropping onto us like hail. I spin, eyes wild, black axe bared as I slice one in half the moment it touches me. Two more take its place, then six replace those. It doesn't matter how many I kill – they all swarm to me, like moths to flame.

I hear a grunt and I see Clary go down, demon on top of her. Only, there isn't anyone to help her.

"Clary!" I scream as the demon rears its head back, ready to bite down on her head.

Gold snakes through the air and slices the demon in half. Isabelle's whip. It takes me a second to realize it. The demon falls apart into two pieces and I run to Clary's side, helping her up. I manifest her a new blade and turn to Isabelle to commend her for her aim –

Just as the wriggling half bites down on her leg.

She screams and slashes down with her whip. It lets her go, but she falls back. I leap forward, driving my axe into the thing, and catch her before she can hit the floor. Clary reaches my side. "Poison," she hisses. "By the Angel –"

I shift Isabelle into her arms. "Get to Jace and Alec. Have them carry her out of here."

Clary spins to me, supporting Izzy. "No – Arta, what are you going to do?"

I reach forward, touching Heosphoros. It takes energy, but I pull some of the heavenly fire out of the blade. It bubbles on my fingertips, and before I can absorb it I let it bleed into my battle axe. The bloody blade glows with a new light. In fact, the entire thing seems to glow, like stars inside a midnight sky.

"I'm going to make myself useful," I say calmly. "Now GO!"

Before she can do anything, I raise my free hand up and fill my palm with the brightest light I can manifest. It thrums with power and the sweetness of angels, and the demons swarm to it. I walk away from Clary, and the hoard follows me, careful not to get too close to the light. I watch the numbers grow, a swirl of them surrounding me like a storm. Through them, I can see my friends hesitating, finally running away.

I smile and extinguish the light.

* * *

My heartbeat is annoyingly loud.

I can hear it; each weak flutter, a roar of my body refusing to give up. Brave sounds, even though I can't move. I close my eyes, wincing at the fresh run of blood I feel at the wound on my forehead. I try to move my shoulder, and I split a healing cut.

The horrible ringing has silenced. The demons have stopped coming. The room is layered with their carcasses, and I should feel victorious. But all I feel is afraid. Because now I am exposed, exhausted, and still a beacon, with the Gift still inside me. It's only a matter of time before another demon shows up. And I won't be able to defend myself.

I hear footsteps and the sound of wet bodies being pushed aside. My heart quickens, and I gasp, trying to roll over. But I can't. I just can't.

"So that's where my sweatshirt went," Sebastian says, kneeling down beside me. Through my blinking vision, I can see his smile fade and his brows knit in concern. "I wish we would stop meeting like this, Angel. I hate seeing you hurt."

He lifts me off the ground and into his strong arms, settling me against his chest. I curl up against him, heartbeat gradually settling. _I am safe now, _my body understands. _Safe. Safe._

"I heard you were gifted with new powers," he says as we walk. "You can tell me all about them later. First, I'm going to show you your new home."


	14. Chapter 14

14

I know where I am when my eyes open.

I had woken up this way for what seemed like years back in the apartment – with his body wrapped around mine, his scent in my head. I feel the familiar weight of his arm around my waist, and I could recognize his scent from miles. I know I'm in his arms before I am awake.

I turn towards his body, towards the warmth. I look up, and I see a pair of depthless black eyes staring back at me.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's creepy to watch someone sleep?" I mumble.

I hear him laugh – a sound of relief, almost. We're on a bed, and he's lying on his side, hand on my stomach. It moves to my cheek as I look up at him. I can't really believe this is happening – seeing him again, I thought I'd be angry. I thought I'd be sad. I thought I'd be scared. But I am completely unable to do anything but be happy. I didn't realize how much I missed him.

"I can't believe it's really you," I say softly. "I mean – I know that sounds dumb. But I haven't seen you in so long."

"Not since I visited you in Idris," he says softly, running his hand down my waist, settling it on my hip. "You made your decision. You came to me."

"I came to help you." He looks mostly the same as before. Still skinnier, still weaker, but still my Sebastian.

"Help me finish what I've started," he nods with understanding. I open my mouth to correct him, but he doesn't let me speak. "I've been waiting for you. I was starting to doubt you." He bends down and kisses my forehead. "I am a fool."

I stroke my hand through his soft snow hair. "You're not a fool, darling. You're lost."

"'Darling'?" He smiles. "Should I call you love, then?"

"If you want."

"Alright then, love." He pulls me closer to him. "I love you." The words sound strange on his lips, as if he hadn't said them in awhile and was just now trying them out again.

I press my hand to his. "I missed you, Sebastian."

He pulls my hand to his lips, kissing the Morgenstern ring. "I missed you too, my Angel."

And then, as if he can't bear with the formalities, he drops my hand and kisses me.

I return his kiss eagerly, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer to me. I relish the feeling of him on top of me again, his hands on my body, tugging my shirt up so he can touch my skin. He makes a deep, rough sound and rolls on top of me entirely, straddling my waist. His hands rake up my body, fingers gliding up my curves and squeezing my breasts as he kisses me again, harder, hungrier.

"God, how I've missed this," he growls, biting my lower lip.

"You and me both, baby," I breathe against his lips, and he chuckles. He rolls his hips against me, grinding himself against my weakest spot. He watches my reaction with a look of amusement. When my mouth parts in quiet pleasure, he swoops down and captures it again.

His hands move up my tank top – he must have removed the sweatshirt while I was asleep – and tugs it off. He scratches my skin in the process, but I don't think anything of it. He grabs my hands and pins them above my head as he kisses me again, but his fists are too tight around my wrists. It hurts.

"Sebastian," I whisper. "You're holding too tight."

He ignores me and continues moving his lips down my body. I shift against his grip and his legs tighten around my waist, forcing my hips still. What he does to me feels good, but his kisses turn rougher. Not just hungry, but sloppy and demanding. His grip isn't a pleasurable-rough – it's too hard.

"Sebastian!" I rip my hands from his grip and push against his chest. "Stop it – now!"

He tears his lips away from mine and draws back, breathing heavily. "What?" he demands.

"Get off," I say shakily. "Get off me."

He looks at me then, eyes narrowed, as if trying to find the reason behind my behavior. I would tell him, but right now, my heart is pounding again. And it's from fear. Fear from understanding that, in my haste to escape the demons, I never realized I had put myself directly in the arms of one.

And then, finally, he climbs off me. He settles beside me, watching as I scramble away from him, searching for my tank top as I cover myself with one arm.

"I don't know why you bother." His voice is dry, mocking, almost. "I've already seen every inch of you. Learned it, touched it, tasted it."

I feel the bed shift as he starts to crawl towards me, but I throw my hand up. Sebastian flies off the bed and slams into the opposite wall.

I stare, lowering my hand in shock as he lands in a crouch and stands, slowly. He grins then. "So those are the powers you gained." He tilts his head. "What else can you do?"

Suddenly he's rushing me, and I shriek and jump back to the edge of the bed. He stops, arms on either side of me, face just an inch away from mine. And he's laughing. Laughing, as if this is all just a game.

"Perfect those powers, my lady," he jeers. "I'll be back, and I intend to discover the depths of them. I want to know what my queen can do."

He kisses me, full on the lips, and is gone in an instant. I hear him leave the room, striding down the hallway until I hear nothing but my racing heart.

And then my chest, heaving with sobs.

* * *

Things were not going as planned.

He almost snorts. That was an understatement. What was wrong with her? It was as if she had been afraid of him. Why? She knows better than to fear him. She was supposed to love him. She belonged to him. So what changed? Did something happen to her out in Edom? Yes, being out there in the wild was not good for her kind, but he had rescued her, hadn't he? He'd saved her. This was how she chose to repay him?

The Endarkened warrior at the door of the prisoners' cell sees him and knows to open the door immediately. As he steps in, he catches sight of the vampire downing the blood like an animal.

"Now, now, Raphael," he says, grinning. The Endarkened girl shuts the door and hurries away. He considers asking her to go tend to Angel, to see if she needs anything.

_No, she'll be fine on her own. Besides, she needs to be punished for her behavior._

He smiles. Could he ever really punish her, though?

"Where's Jocelyn?" Luke asks, voice a low growl. Even in his weakened state, the werewolf still has it in him to put up a show. Fists bunched, teeth bared. Sebastian almost laughs. "_Where is she?!_"

"She's fine," he says. "by which I mean she's still alive. It's the best you can hope for, really." Maybe he should let Angel decide who to pick off first. He isn't fond of keeping them all here, and soon he won't need them. Maybe he'll let them loose in Edom and they could hunt them down together.

"I want to see her," Luke says.

How cute. "Hmm," he says, pretending to think about it. "No. I don't see the advantage in it to me."

"She's your mother," says Luke. "You could be kind to her."

Really? _That _angle? "It's none of your business, dog." His irritation grows. "You, with your hands all over my mother, making Clary believe you're her family –"

"I'm more her family than you are," he snarls.

Sebastian's teeth clench, and he yearns to draw his sword out and behead the stupid man.

Almost as if reading his mind, the warlocks speaks. "Don't," he says. He raises his voice. "You know if you touch Luke, Clary will hate you. Jocelyn too."

_But not Angel. _He draws his hand away anyway. "I said I never intended to harm her."

"No, just hold her hostage," Magnus says. "You want something. From Clary and Jace. Or Artemis. I'm guessing the latter. We all know what she means to you. You care what she thinks. She and I are very close, by the way," he adds.

"You're not that close." Sebastian would know. Though Angel _did_ speak fondly of the warlock. "I'm hardly going to spare the life of everyone she's ever met. I'm not that crazy."

"You seem very crazy," Raphael says.

His eyes flicker to the vampire. Magnus calls out a warning to the infernal creature, which they both ignore. "Raphael Santiago," he says. "Leader of the New York clan – or aren't you? No, that was Camille. Now it's the mad little girl. That must be quite frustrating for you." He leans forward. "The Shadowhunters of Manhattan ought to have stepped in before now – neither girls were fit to be leaders. They broke the Accords – they care nothing for the Law. But you do. It seems to me that of all the Downworld races, the vampires have been most ill treated by Shadowhunters. One only needs to look at your situation."

"_Raphael_," Magnus says again, and tries to lean forward, but his chains pull tight and force him steady.

"I don't see why you are telling me this." The vampire looks up at him.

"You can't say I've mistreated you more than your vampire leaders," Sebastian says. "I've fed you. I haven't put you in a cage. You know I'll win; you all know it. And on that day, we will be happy to make sure you, Raphael, rule all the vampires in New York – in fact, all the vampires in North America. All I need is for you to bring the other Night's Children to my side. The Fair Folk have already joined me. The Court always picks the winning side. Shouldn't you?"

Raphael rises to his feet, and Sebastian feels a small rush of triumph.

"You said 'we'."

He pauses. "Did I?"

"You mean yourself and Artemis."

Sebastian shrugs. "She has chosen my side, yes."

"Your delusion has led you to believe that she has," Magnus mutters from the corner.

He glances from the vampire to the warlock and smiles. "It's no delusion, Magnus Bane. She came to me. She is here with me, in Edom."

"You're lying," Luke snaps. "Artemis would never –"

"Well, obviously, she has." He turns back to the vampire. "Your choice, Raphael. I want to hear it."

The vampire looks at him then. "You say Artemis has joined your side?"

Curious thing. Maybe Angel would win him more support than he realized. After all, she was basically heaven. Having heaven and hell on one's side guaranteed any possibility.

Still, he didn't like the vampire's interest in his wife. "She waits in my chambers now."

"Your offer seems reasonable," Raphael says. "I shall join you."

_Of course. _He hadn't expected much resistance from the vampire. The Night Children always looked out for themselves. As Raphael goes to stand by his side, he watches the others reaction with slight amusement.

"Raphael," Magnus bites through his teeth. "You have truly lived down to my lowest expectations of you."

"Magnus, it doesn't matter," the werewolf says. "Let him go. He's no loss."

Raphael snorts. "No loss, you say. I am well quit of you idiots, flopping about this cell, whining about your friends and lovers. You always have been weak –"

"I should have let you walk into the daylight," Magnus says icily.

Sebastian watches with interest as the vampire flinches, just barely. So there was history between the two. Now _that_ was annoying.

He slides a small knife from his belt, thin and narrow. A mercy-killer, meant to slip between the chinks of armor and deliver a killing stroke. Raphael sees it and steps back, and Sebastian smiles. "Take it," he says, offering it hilt first.

Raphael reaches out a hand suspicious. He takes the knife, dangling it loosely – vampires have little use for weapons.

"Very good," he says. "Now let us seal our agreement in blood. Kill the warlock."

The blade drops from Raphael's hand and clatters on the floor. Irritated, Sebastian bends down and snatches it up, putting it back in the vampire's hand.

"We do not kill with knives," Raphael says, staring from the blade to Sebastian, who regards him coldly.

"You do now," he says. "I won't have you tearing out his throat; too messy. Do as I tell you. Go to the warlock and stab him to death. Cut his throat. Pierce his heart. Whatever you want."

Raphael turns towards the warlock, and the werewolf starts forward. "Luke," Magnus says. "Don't."

"Raphael," Luke says, warning in his tone. "If you do this, there will be no peace between the pack and the Night's Children, not now or ever again."

Sebastian laughs. "You can't imagine you'll ever hold sway over a pack again, can you, Lucian Graymark? When I win this war, and I will, I will rule with your angel beside me, and keep you in a cage for her to throw bones to when it amuses her."

"If you think Artemis would tolerate –" Luke breaks off as he sees and darts towards Raphael, but Sebastian stops him with Phaesphoros, the Morgenstern sword.

The vampire takes his sweet time, Sebastian notes dully. The warlock looks unafraid as the knife touches his neck. The hand holding it is shaking. Sebastian licks his lips. _One slice. One clean cut. That's all you need. _"That's right," he says, grinning. "Cut his throat. Let the blood run on the floor. He has lived too many years."

The seconds stretch on, but that is no qualm to Sebastian. All of them have all the years they could wish for. Time isn't of the essence.

The warlock's lips move, spilling words barely audible. But they make Raphael stop. He murmurs something in reply, and Sebastian's hand tightens around the hilt.

"Santiago –" he starts.

"I was a child then. I am not now." The knife falls to the floor, and he turns to Sebastian. "I cannot. I will not. I owe him a debt from many years ago." Something glitters in the Night Child's dark eyes. "And my queen does not wish me to do so."

The word "queen" is mockery from his lips, and Sebastian finds fury boiling in his veins. He kicks the werewolf aside and swings the Morgenstern sword so the tip presses against the vampire's throat. "Do not," he seethes. "speak for my queen."

"Which one?" the vampire leers. "The Seelie Queen would not side with you unless she got something from you. I have heard you talking to her through the walls. She is your lover. Artemis must mean nothing to you if you can stomach seeing another while you claim to love her."

His teeth clench. "Don't you dare assume you know what I feel for her."

Raphael seems completely unafraid, despite the fact that he won't be breathing for long. "I have an idea. Her love is very bright and potent, even to her friends. To be in love with her – you must be a real bastard to cheat. I know I didn't."

His breath hitches in his throat. "Do not game, vampire."

"Games." Raphael's smile is a glittery sneer. "Yes, she's quite fond of those, isn't she?"

"She's mine. She was mine when she came to me. She hadn't been with another man before me –" He had taken her virginity. He knew she had been pure. The vampire is lying, simple as that.

"Angels can heal." Raphael steps away from the sword's tip. "Between the two of us, who do you think she had no moral qualms about loving?" His eyes darken. "She is now my friend, and she is kind. You are a demon, and you will never deserve her. I will not side with you, no matter the offer."

_Who do you think she had no moral qualms about loving?_ She had loved him, she told him that from then on she wouldn't love anyone but him. But from the start, she had resisted him. She had been repulsed by him. She accepted him, yes, but had she really? He thinks about earlier, in the bed. She had pushed him away. Screamed at him. _She didn't want him to touch her._

His form becomes rigid, and he goes very still. "You disappoint me, Raphael," he says, and sheaths the Morgenstern sword. He steps forward and picks up the knife at the vampire's feet, turning it over in his hand. "You know better than to think such things."

And then, too swiftly for the eye to follow, he drives the blade into Raphael's heart.

* * *

Another disappointing factor about bad(der) Sebastian; he doesn't shower.

Once I was sure he was gone, I managed to pull myself from the bed. My body was still bloody and dirty, and I had searched the room and the nearing rooms for a shower. No luck. There were bathrooms, but no showers. I mean, I understand the water supply in Edom probably isn't something you want on your body, but _seriously?_

So I made one. I went back to the room he put me in, to afraid to explore further lest I run into demons or Endarkened, and carved away at the wall, turning what used to be a closet into a bathroom. It took me awhile to figure out the water and pipe-works, but once I did, I had a nice hot shower running for me. And I've been in it for a long time.

I lean against the sliding door, closing my eyes, thinking about earlier. I knew this would happen. I had been prepared for it. But still – seeing him changed so fundamentally to the point where he can't even touch me the same hurts. It hurts a lot. But I have time. I can still help him.

But I'm torn. There's still a matter of leaving. Once he's back to normal, we can't just stay here. And I have to find the others. Not to mention the prisoners he took from the Downworld council. Magnus, Luke, Raphael, Jocelyn. Oh, I hope they're all right.

I must not have heard the bedroom door open, because when I hear the bathroom door open, I jump.

"Sebastian?" I call out, hesitantly.

"It's me." I hear him approaching the shower, and I tense. "Open the door, Angel."

"I'm showering."

"I know," he says dryly.

Ah, okay. I start to open the door, but my hand freezes. Do I really want him in here, in such a small space? If he does what he did before . . .

He doesn't give me a chance to decide; he slides the door open himself and steps inside, shutting it behind him. My back is facing him, and when his chest presses against me an his arms wrap around my waist, I realize he's as naked as I am.

"Where did you go?" I ask quietly.

"I had business to take care of." The amount of water falling increases so it reaches him too. I realize that that was his own power, not mine. It's strange, knowing he has magic too.

"What business?" His fingers trace circles on my hip, and I lean into his touch.

"Angel," he says. "Do you love me?"

I still against him. "Why would you ask that?"

His fingers press harder. "Answer me."

"Of course I love you. I told you, you're –"

"That's past." He stops circling my hip and instead buries his face in my neck. "I want to hear you say it now. Tell me you love me. Tell me you're mine."

_Tell me you're mine. _There was a time he wanted me to tell him that he was mine, not just vice versa. He wanted to hear I loved him, and wanted him, and would have him, and he with me. Not that I belonged to him as a possession, as something he needed. I can't tell this boy that I love him, because this isn't the boy I love. And I don't say the words "I love you" freely. They lose meaning that way.

"Tell me why." His arms tighten around me, hugging me close. "Tell me why you don't love me anymore. Tell me why you lied."

"I didn't lie."

"Oh yes you did." His voice is a sneer, and he lets go of me. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling cold all over. "You said you would love me. You said you couldn't love anyone but me for the rest of your life."

"I thought you said that was the past."

"Don't fucking _play with me_!" Suddenly his hand is on my arm, jerking me around so I'm facing him. My heart aches then. His eyes are red, his irises black and livid. His face is paler than ever, and his jaw is set tight. He looks furious and broken at the same time.

I yank my arm from his grip, and in the process I trip over myself. I would have fallen backwards and slammed into the porcelain if he hadn't lunged forward and caught me. We crash into each other, chest against chest, and he leans back against the back of the shower, holding me close. He looks down at me, eyes desperate, searching.

"Please," he whispers. "I don't want you . . . I don't want you to be scared of me."

"Baby . . ." I don't know what else to say. I cup his face in my hands, wiping water from his cheek. I don't want to be afraid of him either. And as ruined as he is now, there's still the part of him that I can save. And it's there, it's just clouded. Hidden. Drowned. I want nothing more than to bring it out. I want my Sebastian back. I want him _back._

Sebastian gasps and jerks out of my grip. I step back, stunned, as he throws the shower door open and dashes out of the bathroom like a man caught in bed with another woman. I grab a towel and hurry after him, almost tripping in my haste to follow.

"Sebastian!" I shout once I step out of the bathroom. I search for him, and finally see him in front of the mirror. He isn't admiring his form – the shock in his expression is from something else. He touches his cheek, then reaches out and touches the mirror, as if he's been given a new face. I circle around the bed, walking behind him. I look around him, trying to see what he sees –

He spins on me, and I step back, not from fear but from, well, _shock._

It's his eyes.

His irises are different – they're still black, but with a slice of something else in the middle. Green. The green of fresh spring grass.

"Artemis," he says. "Artemis, it's _me._"


	15. Chapter 15

_Again, sorry for another long wait! I have a long vacation so I'll see if I can get another chapter in before Monday :) Enjoy, and always, thanks for reading!_

* * *

15

"I – what?" I step back, holding my towel steady with one hand.

"It's _me,_" he says again. "Lilith's blood – all that – all I drank – you did something, Arta. It's gone. My mind is clear. She isn't in it anymore." He touches the red hollows beneath his eyes, which seem considerably lighter than before. "I'm not sick anymore, Arta."

"I . . . what?" I understand what he's saying, I just don't understand how it could be true. I didn't use the Heavenly Gift. I can still feel it throbbing in my veins.

"Come here, Arta." He holds a hand out to me. His eyes aren't hooded and mischievous – they're open, honest, slightly worried. As if he fears I won't take his hand, that'll I'll turn and run. But his jaw is tight – he won't pull me into his arms. He won't make me come to him. He's waiting for me.

I press my palm into his and he guides me towards him, gently, until our chests are flush against each other. Even through the towel, I can feel his heart hammering against his skin with his awe, his shock, his joy. I touch his cheek and he leans into my hand. He wraps an arm around my waist and his free hand touches mine, keeping my hand against his face. His eyes close and he turns, kissing my palm, and stays that way.

"I never realized . . . how much more I love you when I'm not . . . hers." His eyes open and he turns to me. "I can't see you as you are when I'm him."

"Who?"

"_Him_." He says the words hatefully, like a curse. "Her pet. I am her child, but he was her pet. And I hate him. He hurt you." He touches my upper arm, at the marks he left earlier. "He didn't care if he hurt you, not if it meant driving you to him. He would have forced you into his bed, whether you wanted to be there or not. He wanted you because he thought you could fill what he couldn't feel. He felt that gap. That hole. But he can't – he can't love. Even if he had you, it wouldn't help. Because he couldn't love you. He's a fucking _monster_. A demon. And demons – can't – love."

"Sebastian –"

His hand moves to my cheek. He's done this a million times before, but I forgot how tender his touch could be. "I never knew love before you. And God, it feels good to love." He presses his forehead against mine. "It feels good to be loved."

"But I don't understand," I say softly. "What happened?"

"You did something." He doesn't pull away. "I can feel it – your light in my veins. It's like heaven. Did you make me an angel, Angel?" I can hear him smile.

I pull away, gazing into his eyes, green crescents in a black night sky. "I just wanted you – the old you – back. I don't know –"

I stop then. I did do something. I didn't use the Heavenly Gift, but I _did_ use up the extra it gave me. I don't feel as, well, _angelic_ as I did before. My amplified strength, power, abilities – that enhancement is gone. That's what was used to stifle the effects of Lilith's blood.

"How do you feel?" I ask. "I think I might have shot some angel voodoo into your system. Is it hurting you?"

He feigns a look of insult. "I'm not all demon, Angel. Just part. And if anything, you fixed what I messed up." He closes his eyes, smirk on his lips. "This must be how angel boy felt when our bond broke, back at the apartment."

I blink. "Wait, do you think this is like that?"

"What?"

"This." I motion to him. "What I did, what I reversed. Is it permanent?" Malcolm Fade mentioned that Lilith's blood was like a parasite in Sebastian's mind. But did I kill it, or put it to sleep?

His smile fades – fast. "It is." His voice is firm, hard. "It has to be."

"Jace wasn't," I whisper. "Even though you sped up the process –"

He snorts.

"– he would have healed on his own. He would have become the other guy again."

"That's because of his runes and his Shadowhunter blood," Sebastian says briskly. "I'm not like him. In any way."

I give him a look. "Do we need to have that talk again?"

His lips twitch. "Which one?"

"The one where I yell at you for insisting you're worse than you actually are."

He laughs. "That's my Angel."

And then, gently, he leans down and kisses me, and all thought of doubt and uncertainty flee. It's one of his occasionally sweet kisses – he doesn't usually give them, but when he does, they're perfect. Sebastian's passion comes out through teeth on lips, hands buried in sheets, and moans well-earned. But sometimes it's sweet and simple like this, and I can't help but sink into it. I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him closer to me, pressing our heartbeats flat against each other. His lips are soft, his hands gentle. The kiss becomes stronger, his grip harder, but he can't help himself. And I don't mind.

I pull away first, trying to gather myself. "So . . ."

He smiles at my haze, wrapping his arms around my waist. "So?"

"I – ah!" I jump out of arms, rubbing my ass. "Stop that."

He grins wolfishly. "Stop what?"

My eyes dart over him again, and I remember what we had been doing before he became himself again. "Put some clothes on. I can't focus when you're naked."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You . . . better," I mutter lamely as he vanishes into the bathroom for a towel. I hear him laughing on his way in.

* * *

We finally reached the conclusion that, while we prayed the change would be permanent, we couldn't know for sure. So we had to act as if he could become his old self at any time.

Well, we were supposed to.

"I still don't see why you chose this room of all rooms," Sebastian says dryly. "When I said I wanted you to decorate, I meant –"

"I know what you meant, and I know you can come up with a more clever way to get me in bed," I say calmly, doing a twirl. Where my feet step, the grey of the marble floor turns to black, with white flecks in the depths to look like stars.

"I assumed this would be your least favorite room," he says. He leans back on his throne, legs spread, glass of wine in his hand. He doesn't look much like a king, though, not with his black sweater, black pants, and bare feet. He looks like my Sebastian.

The room is massive and semicircular, easily one of the biggest rooms in the fortress. At the front sits a dais made of stone and wood with six steps, leading to two thrones of ivory and gold. As I waved my hand, the windows behind each turned into stain glass windows, one from Beauty and the Beast, the other from the Count of Monte Christo.

"It needs a bit of personality is all." I shrug and do another twirl, just so I can watch the skirt of my new dress flutter like wind. It's dark blue that bleeds into black at the edges, with sleeves that drape off my shoulder in delicate cuts. The material is soft, like silk almost, but not as sleek. The one streak that hadn't faded in him, no matter the form, was his generous nature – he loves spoiling me. I have no need to ever manifest myself a new dress, not with the collection he has for me.

"Personality." He smiles. "I'll never understand you, Angel."

"What?"

He edge of the glass sits on his lips. He drinks and pulls it away. "I was afraid you would see this room – the one room _he_ couldn't wait to show you – and hate me. It's his wish manifested – for you to rule with him in Hell. When I showed it to you, I thought you would destroy it." He raises his glass, gesturing to the room. "Instead you've beautified it."

"I – I'm sorry." I can't tell if the sudden cold rush is from my bare feet on the marble or the sudden disappointment in myself. He wanted me to destroy this room for him, of course, because he probably couldn't. And I've gone and made it pretty.

"Don't apologize." His voice is firm. "Don't ever apologize for anything you do. You took something ugly and you made it enchanting. You took something that represented prison and made it home."

I would laugh as his over-poetic-ness, if not for the gaze he fixes me with. Intense would be too lazy a description – it's something pleased mixed with something soft, tender, hungry, and topped with amusement. It's love, and it makes the green in his black eyes brighter.

"You do know how to make a woman blush," I say and turn so he doesn't see me blush. I throw my hand up and the chandelier above me warps and changes, lengthening, paling, turning into something made of glass and white rather than grey stone. It splashes brightness all throughout the room, tipped with thousands of small candles and, at the low base, six skulls with large white tapers in their mouths.

I turn to him, somewhat pleased with myself.

He chuckles. "A skull chandelier." His gaze heats. "You know what that reminds me of?"

I know exactly what it reminds him of – that's why I made it. That night at the Bone Chandelier, the first time we'd ever been intimate. Just thinking about it makes me lick my lips in anticipation. He notices, and set his glass down beside the throne. He gets up, crossing the marble until he's right in front of me. He settles his hands on my waist, tugging me to him.

"Would you like to relieve that moment, Angel?" he murmurs.

I shiver. "Yes."

His hand skims up my waist. In the material of my dress, it makes his touch twice as soft. His other hand wraps around my waist, holding me close to him as he leans in, lips trailing up my neck, stopping at my ear.

"I do recall there being music," he whispers.

My eyes flutter open. "Tease."

He laughs – a light, sexy sound, and narrow my eyes. He wants to play? Fine.

I wave my hand, and a piano manifests itself in the corner. The keys play on their own in a familiar song of fire that I know he remembers. When his eyes darken I smirk, just slightly.

"I do recall there being dancing," I say.

His hand captures my own, and his other one settles on my waist. "Fine then," he says. "Let's dance."

And we do. The music never stops – it plays itself in an endless loop and we dance to it, never faltering, never tiring. It's sweet and sickly in the air, echoing in all the right places, making the room drift with a sleepy haze. I lose myself in his eyes and his touch and in my thoughts, sinking in the blissful realization that my imagined reunion with him could never have been as good as what I have right now.

It's only when he starts becoming impatient, when he sneaks kisses to my neck and his hand wanders over my ass do I remember who started teasing first. Just before he can slip his hand up my dress, I skirt out of his grip, grinning. "Not so fast, big boy."

I snap my fingers and the music changes considerably, from a piano ballad to something loud and rumbly and wild. One of my favorite songs by X Ambassadors.

He starts towards me, but I dance away from him, swaying my hips as I do. I know it turns him on. I don't have to look at him to know he's staring. He takes another step, and I go still.

"I recall there being a good while when you left me to dance on my own," I say, smiling. "Move, and I stop moving. Stop moving, and I move."

His expression is calm, but his gaze is dark. He doesn't move. "I'll get you back for this, Angel."

"Mmm hmm." I move my hips again, circling them in a way I know he likes. I close my eyes, raising my hands above my head, dancing in a way I wouldn't have the confidence to do anywhere but here, alone, in front of him alone. I let my hands run down my hips, keeping eye contact with him with every move I make. His hands twitch at his sides, his jaw tightens, but he doesn't move. "Good boy," I can't help but tease, and his gaze smolders. I can practically _see_ what he wants to do to me, and it excites my body beyond reason.

Again, his patience wears thin. "I wasn't that long," he snarls before striding forward and yanking me into his arms. Our lips crash and I fist my hands in his shirt, holding him closer as he kisses the breath out of me. I can taste the wine on his lips. He pauses only to bite my lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before diving back for more kisses, tangling one hand in my hair.

"Dance for me later, Angel," he purrs. His lips kiss down my neck and his hands move down my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Now, I want you to sing."

He carries me to the massive throne and sits, settling me in his lap. His hands slide up my dress, up my thighs, raking against my skin as I push him back against his throne and kiss him harder. I can't get enough of him. The taste of his lips is a drug. He chuckles and returns the passion, tracing circles over my body. Just the right amount of pressure. Just the right amount of hunger.

He never hurts me, not once. Even when my dress shifted and his zipper undone, when his sweater comes off, and when our bodies rock against each other. When he grips me tight, muscles of his shoulders and arms tightening, he is gentle. His lips praise me, whispering dirty pretty things in my ear as he holds me close and shows me just how much our bodies have needed each other.

* * *

I planned on decorating the entire castle, but we got held up in most of the bedrooms, and eventually decided we could take it one room at a time. We already finished designing the master bedroom together, and let me just say, I can't wait to put it to use tonight.

"What's that?" I ask as we pass one of the larger, transparent windows in the hallway. Outside, at the back of the castle, is what looks like a massive plot of land cleared out and evened. For what?

He glances out at it, and for a moment something passes through his eyes. Something fond. "He thought you might want a garden. A place to take the his children out." His voice changes when he says that last sentence.

"You don't want children?" I tease.

"I used the condoms for a reason, Angel," he says wryly. His voice changes. "We couldn't raise them here," he says simply. "They would be monsters, never having seen the light of a summer day."

I look at him, somewhat taken aback. "We wouldn't raise monsters. We would raise them right."

"Sometimes parentage isn't enough," he says. "Sometimes it's in their blood to be evil."

I give him a hard look, but he continues. "He didn't really care about that. He wanted a legacy. A prince and a princess to carry on his kingdom."

My stomach rolls, when I realize what he means. "Our children wouldn't –"

"He would have made them." His voice is thick with hate, disgust. "He wouldn't have cared if they were blood. I know I didn't."

I step away from him. "Why are you saying this?"

He looks at me, eyes weak. "I shouldn't make you stay here."

I don't say anything, and he continues. "I saw the way this place affected you. The very air poisons you. You couldn't even leave the castle, lest you be attacked." He stares out the window, eyes hooded. "I can send you home. It's the right thing to do, I suppose. I know you don't belong here. An angel in Hell."

_There's a way out! _"Only if you come with me," I say without hesitation. "I'd rather live with you in Hell than alone forever on earth."

He smiles, but it's thin. "There's nowhere for me up there. The Nephilim would hunt me down. We could never live in peace."

"There are other dimensions," I insist. "Worlds between worlds, not necessarily hells. We could live there."

He takes my hand, the one with the Morgenstern ring. His own glitters on his hand. "Remember that night when we were in that boat, watching fireworks?"

"And we went swimming afterwards?" Without swimsuits.

His eyes glint. "Yes. But I mean before that, when we laid there together watching the fireworks. You told me the future you wanted. You said you would rebuild and live in MacIntosh. You told me you would introduce me to your parents, and we would visit them often. You said you would show me places and people, introduce me to the friends you've made over the centuries and I would know love – all kinds of love, not just romantic love. And by the Angel, I loved that vision. I dreamt of it. And now, because of me, we can't have it. All we can have is this." He spreads his arm out, gesturing to the stone room below the banister, a room that I've yet to decorate. There are windows along the side, showing us the rest of barren Edom.

I touch his arm, and take his other hand. "I'll have it, then." I say quietly. "If it means I can be with you, then I'll have it. I don't care where we live, Sebastian, as long as we live together." I smile then. "It's better to love in Hell than to live alone in heaven."

He laughs and kisses me, hard. When he pulls away, he takes my hand, sliding my fake ring off and throwing it over the railing. It flies across the room at a blinding speed, through the window, landing someplace outside.

I blink. "Why . . .?"

He takes his ring off, the real one, and takes my now ring-less hand. "I told you once I would give you this ring," he says quietly. "And you gave it back to me. We weren't ready then, but we are now. Will you have it?" His eyes turn tender. "Will you have me?"

My eyes widen, just slightly. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

His lip quirks up. "I don't think marriage is possible down here, but yes. I'm asking to you to be mine for as long as we live."

"Yes." Oh God, yes. "Of course."

He chuckles then, and slides the ring on my finger. It's cool and heavier than the one I wore before. It's also far more beautiful.

His hands settle on my waist. "I wasn't lying when I said I'd get you something prettier to wear above it," he says softly. "I won't call you a Morgenstern until I do."

I grin. "Does this mean I can call you my fiancée?"

"You can call me whatever you want," he says, tugging me closer. "As long as you can call me yours."

* * *

"Are you sure you want me to do all the talking?"

He nods. "I'll . . . stand by."

I frown, but don't argue with him. I understand that the last person Magnus, Luke, Raphael, and Jocelyn want to see is him, but I want him to be the one to tell them that they're free to go home.

_No, not Raphael_. My chest aches again as I hurry down the hallway, Sebastian somewhere behind me at a slower pace. He told me what he did, and even though I understand that it wasn't really _him _who killed my friend, it still hurts. Raphael was gentle at heart, and from Sebastian's reluctance to tell me the story, I can assume that it had something to do with me. That makes it worse.

Magnus sees me first. He sits up immediately when I open the door, smile on his face. It fades when he sees Sebastian behind me.

"Is it true?" Luke asks warily. "You've joined his side?"

I shake my head. "I didn't. I – I don't know how to explain, but I did it. I changed him. And he's going to send you home."

"What about Jocelyn?"

I turn back to Sebastian, who's jaw is tight at the mention of his mother. Though I don't think it's hate that fills his eyes. "She'll be released as well," he says.

"Then where is she?" he demands. "I want to see her."

"What about Alec?" Magnus asks me. He looks older than I've ever seen him, as if the place is draining him, too. But how? He's half-demon.

"He, Jace, Clary, and Isabelle are all out there in Edom," I say. "We got separated. I don't know where they are –"

"Clary is out there?" Luke turns to me. "Is she alright?"

"They were all doing fine when I was last with them." But things change. Demons show up. And last I remember, Isabelle was bitten by one. For all I know, half of them could be dead.

My silence speaks louder than I anticipate, because Luke shakes his head. "I'm not leaving. Not without Clary."

"I won't leave Alec out there," Magnus agrees. His voice is mixed with sadness and anger and worry.

"This isn't time to play hero," I say, trying not to snap. "I don't – we don't know how long Sebastian will stay . . ." Good. "We don't know when he'll go back to the boy who trapped you here in the first place. This may be your only chance to escape."

"You can't ask us to abandon our loved ones in hell, Artemis," Luke says softly. "Could you leave here on your own, knowing your friends are out there?"

Well, no, but that isn't the point. The point is that if Sebastian becomes bad again, I won't be able to make him good again. And I won't be able to fight him, weakened as I am.

I turn to Sebastian. "Can you send your demons out to find them?"

He shakes his head. "There's a risk that they'll just kill them on sight, especially with Jace and Clary's angel blood. Demons aren't good soldiers. And if I send the Endarkened, you know they won't come with them. They'll kill them or they'll run."

Sebastian's tone with my friends' name surprises me, just a little. It isn't angry or annoyed or wanting. It's normal, as if he's just speaking about some people we've known for awhile. I noticed a lot of things different between original Sebastian and good Sebastian. This one is . . . better.

And I will never see him again. Even if we have Lilith's blood removed. I don't have anymore angel mojo to slip in his bloodstream.

A part of me wonders what Sebastian would have been like if he had been the boy given angel blood. He would be the incredible warrior, the charmer, the soldier.

And maybe Clary would be the monster. Or Jace.

I shove the images from my mind. This isn't the time. "Luke – Magus – come on. I don't . . . I can save you. We can save you. I can't –" I can't let any more of my friends die because of me.

Magnus's eyes turn tender, and his chains rattle as he settles his hands on his knees. "We know you mean well, Arta. Both . . . both of you." He doesn't look at Sebastian.

"I can let you out," Sebastian's voice is monotone. "You can search for them if you want."

Magnus pauses. His voice is low, so only I can hear. "I don't think I can survive out there. Not in this realm, with my father draining my energy like this."

"You'll survive with me," Luke says firmly. "Let me see Jocelyn. We'll decide together what to do."

I nod then. "Okay."

* * *

In the end, they all voted to go. Better to go out there and possibly be reunited than stay here and be separated for sure. Sebastian said he would tell the demons under his control to back off, but he couldn't guarantee they would. Jocelyn never looked at him once when he spoke, and I know he noticed. I wanted to snap at her, but I know I couldn't blame her for her actions. This was her supposed monster now with kindness. She didn't know how to react.

"If you find them," I say as they all start out the door. The Endarkened lay beyond, at bay because Sebastian told them to subside. "Tell them . . . I'm okay. And tell them I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Magnus says. "You're where you want to be. That's your decision. Stay with . . . him. If it makes you happy."

I glance back at Sebastian, who stands at the top of the staircase too far away to hear the conversation.

"Come back here if – when – you find them. Sebastian said the only way home is through here . . ." I trail off. I look at weakened Magnus, and scratched up Jocelyn. What are the chances that they'll survive out there, in the land of demons? Yes, they're armed – but will that be enough?

My eyes water. "Are you sure you can't stay here?"

"Not with him," Luke says quietly. "You know we can't live peacefully in the same house as Valentine's child. He's done too much."

I don't know if he means Sebastian or Valentine, but I suppose it doesn't matter. My chest aches. "I know. But . . . I don't want you guys to get hurt. It's a hard place out there."

Jocelyn bends down so she's eye to eye with me and rests a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes are big and emerald green, the exact shade of the slivers in Sebastian's eyes now. They are full of kindness, the way any mother's gaze would fix a child in need. "We know the risk. You're staying here for your loved one. We're going out there for ours. We do what we must for those we love." She kisses my forehead and hugs me close, and I hug her back.

"Be careful," she whispers in my ear. "Fate never favors Morgenstern men."

And then she pulls away and smiles, as if she had never spoken a word. Luke ruffles my hair, and Magnus kisses the back of my hand. I watch all three of them walk away until they're only specks in the distance. Once they have vanished, I feel Sebastian's hands on my shoulders, guiding me back inside the castle. The door shuts, and only then do I finally turn away.


End file.
